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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208414">A Game for Rough Girls</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawprints_on_the_moon/pseuds/pawprints_on_the_moon'>pawprints_on_the_moon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Arranged Marriage, Assassination attempts, Bigotry &amp; Prejudice, Camping, Chile - Freeform, Cigarettes, Coming Out, Complete, Draco/Pansy friendship, Drunk Sex, EWE, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Getting Together, Goblins, HP femslash, Journalist!Ginny, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Living Together, Marijuana Use, Masturbation, Mental Illness, Minor Original Character(s), POV First Person Pansy, POV third person Ginny, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quidditch, Rare Pairings, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Strong Female Characters, alcohol use, everybody's gay, international politics, journalist!pansy, pawprintsmoon, stuck together, world building</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:54:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>106,216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208414</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawprints_on_the_moon/pseuds/pawprints_on_the_moon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On Ginny’s first day at The Daily Prophet she received the assignment of a lifetime: Quidditch World Cup, '07. This would’ve been a dream come true if only she wasn’t forced to share a tent with international news journalist, Pansy Parkinson.</p><p>  <i>bubbling brooks . pygmy puffs . Pansy's fear of heights . gay parties . figure drawing . Ginny's love of flying . tents . maybe forgiveness </i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Background Draco/Harry - Relationship, Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley, minor ginny/alicia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>135</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fierce and Feisty Femslash!, Harry Potter Femslash, Strong Ginny</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. "we must have gone to Hogwarts together"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello readers :) This fic is complete! Huge thanks and lots of love to my wonderful betas Liebes and r00wscribbles &lt;3</p><p>You can find me on Tumblr as pawprintsmoon.<br/>The Spotify Playlist that goes with this fic is: <a>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4v4quZyAhcpGaQWUSTxQac?si=Ep7YyyXVQ6iz4-p0_Qt1Fg</a></p><p>This fic is dedicated to anybody who ever felt like the HP fandom needed more wlw.</p><p> </p><p>“Football(Quidditch) is all very well as a game for rough girls, but is hardly suitable for delicate boys.” -Oscar Wilde</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny Weasley walked with long, determined strides down the narrow streets of London. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, but she held her head high and kept up an internal monologue of self encouragement. The trees were starting to blossom and pollen filled the springtime air making her nose itch. The May sunshine was nice though, and she was glad to be out of her flat, glad to finally have purpose again. She was ready.</p><p>Ginny turned down an empty alleyway and walked past two overflowing garbage bins. Looking around she spotted a cobblestone on the ground engraved with the words <em>“The Daily Prophet”</em> and she crouched down to tap it three times with her wand. As she stood up, a tall building with Greek style columns and wide steps took the place of what used to be a graffiti-covered wall. She swallowed her nerves and marched up the steps and through the heavy wood doors.</p><p>The interior of the building was as grand as the facade had been. Paper-plane memos zipped busily above her head. Owls hooted near large sunny windows and voices echoed off the marble floor. All of Ginny’s concern about leaving the muddy pitch and entering a world of business casual robes hit her at full force. Tension began to build up in her shoulders, despite her recent morning stretches. The ex-Quidditch star half wanted to fly away, right back out those doors. But apparently one should only dislocate one’s shoulder so many times. Same goes for concussions. </p><p>Ginny’s transition to working with <em>The Prophet </em>seemed like a good idea to everyone. As Ginny looked around, she quickly ran through the reasons she wanted to do this: she'd stay involved in Quidditch, she's actually a decent writer, they hired her without question and offered good benefits. After a too-long bout of unemployment and physical therapy, the need for novelty overwhelmed her. Journalism was a novelty. This was just another jolly good adventure. Soothed by reflecting on her rationale, she regained some optimism despite the lingering tension. She wanted this. </p><p>A gold plaque on the wall indicated the location of her new boss’s office. Ginny's dented watch told her that she was 3 minutes early. Perfect. She walked past dozens of cubicles to the office belonging to Editor in Chief, Shera Patil and knocked.</p><p>The  door swung open and she stepped in. An older woman stood up from behind the desk and walked around to shake Ginny’s hand.</p><p>“Hello Miss Weasley, welcome to <em> the Prophet</em>,” Ms Shera Patil said, smiling. Taking in Patil's sharply ironed business robes and frizz-free hair, Ginny could tell that many people would be intimidated by this woman. She exuded authority and demanded respect, just as Ginny remembered from her interview.</p><p>“Thank you." Ginny beamed. "It’s good to be here.”</p><p>Patil showed her quickly to Ginny's empty, grey cubicle.</p><p>“The floor manager, Gabrielle Delacour, will be by shortly to give you a tour and help you settle in. She does pretty much everything around here, including orienting new journalists. I’m afraid I will be very busy all morning, but there’s a list -”</p><p>Ms Patil waved her wand and a sheet of parchment appeared on Ginny's new desk.</p><p>“-of tasks to help you get oriented. Mr Gibble, our Head of Sports and Games would have liked to start you off but he’s been struggling with his health. He has agreed to meet with you this afternoon via the floo, which Gabrielle will show you to. Then at 4 o'clock you can come back to my office where I’ll give you your first assignment and introduce you to your partner.”</p><p>“Sounds good!” Ginny said, slinging her rucksack on the back of her new office chair.</p><p>“We’re very excited to have you as a part of our team, Miss Weasley,” Ms Patil said. A smile warmed her face, softening up her severe appearance. “As Mr Gibble, Sports Editor, has been out of the office a lot, we’ve really been needing the extra help. I think your sports background and connections are just the thing. I know it may be difficult to switch from working as an athlete to working behind a desk, so I promise that we’ll keep you on your feet and doing as much field work as possible. You won’t even be spending much time in the office for the next couple weeks. We want to keep you close to a Quidditch Pitch.”</p><p>“I’m down for whatever we need!” Ginny felt the tension lighten up upon reassurance that she'd be watching the sport she loved. Though this building was magnificent she wasn't quite ready to be inside all day. Knowing that she wouldn’t be tied to her desk made the drab cubicle looked more like a locker room and less like a prison cell. </p><p>“Great!” Patil exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Well I’ll see you at 4, Gabrielle will be here in a bit to show you around.”</p><p>Ginny’s new boss disappeared behind the wall of her cube, leaving Ginny alone in her new locker room of a cubicle.</p><p>Ginny sat down in her chair and spun around getting comfortable. She opened her bag to pull out pictures to pin to her blank gray walls. First, a giant Hollyhead Harpies poster which covered an entire wall. She was so happy in that picture, arms slung over the shoulders of her teammates. Next, a faded picture of all the Weasleys when they were very young. Fred's smile hinted at the dungbombs planted in Percy's room. Seeing his image everyday would tear at her heart in a comforting way. Then, a picture Harry had sent her from Romania a few years ago of him working with a Romanian Longhorn Dragon. His robe kept catching on fire and he kept stamping it out, laughing.</p><p>Harry had left England when he was 19, feeling there were too many eyes on him and that Auror training was more triggering than rewarding. Their relationship had been tense after the war, both of them grieving and jumpy with PTSD. Their sex life had withered way to nonexistence. When Harry decided to leave, Ginny supported his choice. After some space and time they realized that while they would always love each other, love can take many forms. Their love was familial and they owled occasionally.</p><p>Ginny also pinned up a charming yet unflattering picture of Ron, Hermione, and their new baby, Rose. One last photo featured Luna dancing majestically with large celery stalks in Luna and Ginny’s small living room.</p><p>Then Gabrielle appeared with a poised smile and flowing platinum hair. Ginny recognized her immediately as Fleur Delacour’s little sister and her own sister in law.</p><p>“I nearly forgot you worked at <em>the Prophet!</em>” Ginny beamed. A familiar face amidst all this strangeness was like noticing the lifeboats halfway through a transatlantic sea voyage.</p><p>“No, you completely forgot,” Gabrielle corrected with a careless giggle. Her french accent accompanied her lazy posture. Paired with her inarguable beauty it created quite an effect. “Do not worry. It is a big newspaper, sometimes I forget I work here too. But it will be nice to work together, no?”</p><p>Gabrielle showed Ginny around the building and introduced her to the other writers and project managers of other departments. She studied the employee guidelines and finalized the morning print edition (well, mostly observed her new coworkers finalize the edition.) Just past noon she enjoyed leftover stir fry reheated in Tupperware at her desk. Another meeting outlined the plan for the month’s stories -Ginny felt a flutter of anticipation when the World Cup was mentioned. Next was a meeting in which everybody shared what they were working on and tried to avoid harsh judgement from Boss-lady Patil.</p><p>By the time she met Mr Gibble through the floo network she was already overwhelmed and was not at all comforted by the sight of her superior. His splotchy skin was pale, suggesting that he might faint into the embers at any time. He would be working from home for a while, he informed her, and she would be doing more of the leg work. That seemed fair as Ginny could imagine his legs would be very wobbly indeed. From Ginny’s notes, Mr. Gibble would decide what would become a story. Ginny would write it and he would do a first edit before turning it to Patil.</p><p>4-o-clock rolled around and she was back at Ms Patil’s office. She had just sat down when another woman entered the office. Upon seeing a horribly familiar face, Ginny's stomach slid greasily down through her knees to the marble floor.</p><p>“Yes, please have a seat,” Ms Patil said, gesturing the other woman onto the chair. “Miss Weasley, this is your new partner, Pansy Parkinson.”</p><p>***</p><p>I wake to the sunrise shining pale pink through my sheer white curtains. I sit up and roll my neck slowly feeling a gentle stretch. Mornings are so very lovely. The traffic sounds haven’t picked up yet, and the quiet streets of Chelsea are crisp and lazy, the songs of robins and chickadees the only noise. I cast an <em>augementi</em> into the empty glass sitting on my bedside table and drink the water gratefully, reminding myself of the simple pleasures in life…</p><p>As if. Who am I kidding? I fucking can’t stand mornings and would the birds please shut up because I never should’ve gotten a day job and <em>why dear Hecate </em>am I not a lady of leisure like I’d always planned? Salazar knows I don't need the money but would certainly enjoy some extra beauty sleep. Alas, my cruel ambition has lead me down into the toil of the worker's world and early mornings... so here we are.</p><p>I throw my fluffy, warm, goose-down comforter back up over my head and squeeze my eyes closed, cursing the dry taste of morning in my mouth. I’ve effectively hidden from that horrible peachy sunshine. But the horrible bouncing and singing alarm clock that Blaise gave me for my 25th birthday (curse his rotten hell-bound soul) cannot be blocked out. I really don’t know why I still have the wretched thing over three years later.</p><p>Groaning I sit up and grab my wand off the bedside table and point it at the little magical clock that is belting out Vivaldi’s <em> Spring</em>. I have cursed this clock often enough that it has grown afraid of me and it quiets itself as soon as I raise my wand. As it should. </p><p>Coffee appears magically on the nightstand, steaming in the most perfect and soothing way. If you want to really know about a person's character, just look at their bedside table. For example, mine is a mess. There are two empty glasses that used to be filled with water sitting atop the skull and cross-bone adorned coasters. Several stone pendants hang from a silver jewelry tree as well as my earrings, half of which are missing their mates. My rings are absent however, as they never leave my fingers. A vial of an orange potion lays on its side next to an empty vial with a fine layer of blue goo still sticking to the glass. Next to some rolling papers, a large glass marble charmed to vibrate on demand awaits the next time I crave self directed pleasure. There’s a little leather sketchbook that is worn and dusted with charcoal powder, evidence left by the drawings that fill it. Expensive quills have frayed and abused feathers. There are tissues and candy wrappers. </p><p>Looking in my ornate silver mirror, I see my scrunched up little pug nose and feel the familiar stab of insecurity. That’s fine. I lift my chin and flash a smirk at my reflection. I tell myself that my nose is sexy and defiant just like me, even though I’m not really feeling it. I’m getting better at being kind to myself, though for many years kindness was a stranger to me, and it’s required a lot of practice and patience to cultivate it to its current status of shrunken acquaintance. ‘They’ say self-compassion is healthy. </p><p>I throw back my morning potion, -the orange essence barely masking its vaguely stomach acid flavour. I feel marginally better --at least my body feels less like wet sand. Still, it’s an arduous twenty minutes during which I choose my ensemble-black, white, green, lacy and decadent- and another ten for hair and make up. 'They' tell me routine is healthy. </p><p>I cure myself of bed-head by charming my black bob to be shiny, smooth, and perfect. I give myself cat eyes and line my lips a classic wine burgundy, filling in the color with just a hint of feminine magic. I check my metallic green fingernails -they rock. </p><p>Do ‘They’ say vanity is healthy? No? Whatever.</p><p>The morning finds me drinking a magically enhanced acai smoothie (think vitamins and a mild calming drought). I’ve just finished re-reading the article I wrote for the foreign affairs section of the <em> Daily Prophet </em> and now I’m scanning through the American, EU, Russian, and Brazilian news that I have on order biweekly from international papers. </p><p>An eagle owl shows up on my window and I set aside the papers to receive the note clutched in his talons. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Pans, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>How’s 8:00 Friday sound? Greg and Daphne will be there. If you forget to bring  my sweater again I may have to tattoo a reminder on the inside of your eyelids. Without any pain blockers, mind you. That sweater is  soft and grey and really brings out my eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>On a less aggressive note, I really am sorry for your predicament. Not even you deserve such a cruel fate. The little snot-faced Weaslette? That’s brutal, and for two weeks? Avada me now. She finds out today? Be careful. Although I do remember a little something about you, Miss Parkinson, many years ago, some secret you once told your fake teenage boyfriend? It wasn’t just Blaise who had a hard on for the  girl-Weasley, was it? Don’t pretend too hard to hate this new assignment-- maybe it’s exactly what you need. You’ve been in a rut, don’t deny it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well I’ll see you on Friday. Don’t forget my sweater. This is your last warning.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours always,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Draco </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Shit Draco, thanks for the unneeded reminder of what this wretched day will bring. The memory of a small yet embarrassing teen crush makes me want to run right back to bed and hide my face in a pillow. I know I’ll be able to pull it together at work. The evil singing clock- which I’m still not sure why I haven’t thrown out yet -tells me it’s time to step into that fireplace. </p><p>“Buckle up, creampuff,” I tell myself,  drinking down the rest of my cooling coffee. “It’s going to be a long day.”</p><p>When I step into the green flames I’m careful that my robes don’t drag in any ashes.</p><p>***</p><p>Pansy Parkinson sat down on the chair in Patil’s office as though it was a throne. Ginny looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her obviously expensive robes. While she had unfamiliar tattoos on her arms she had the same artfully messy bob from years ago. She was the picture of high society, and she was looking at Ginny. <em> Scrutinizing </em> Ginny.</p><p>"I think you may remember each other from Hogwarts. Miss Parkinson told me that you were acquainted when I informed her last week that you would be working together,” Ms Patil said. “You were in different years and houses, of course.”</p><p>“Yeah, how could anyone forget her,” Ginny said through gritted teeth. It took every ounce of self control to keep her from hexing the Slytherin right there in her new boss’s fancy office.</p><p>Ginny’s mind buzzed with the echoes of adrenaline. As though hit by a hailstorm, she was bombarded with flashes of memories from her 6th year at Hogwarts. This witch had dominated the school under Snape and the Carrow’s watch... had so fully demonstrated the depths of her cruelty. How could <em>The Prophet</em> let her work here? How could she dare to work here?</p><p>Ginny’s stomach churned and she prayed she wouldn’t puke up leftover stir fry all over Patil’s marble office floor. Swallowing, she focused on counting her breaths in and out. She couldn’t deal with these feelings right now, she couldn’t let herself lose face on her first day. There were more important things than Pansy Parkinson. There had always been more important things than Pansy Parkinson. Ginny had too much practice at Being Okay for this stupid, snot-faced Slytherin to rattle her. Ginny stubbornly transformed her feelings of panic to those of irritation. As she came back to herself, Ginny realised that Ms. Patil had continued speaking oblivious to her inner turmoil.</p><p>“... You may have seen her work in <em>The Prophet</em>, but if not, Miss Parkinson works in international affairs. She’s been employed with us for nearly six years.” Patil turned to address Parkinson, “As I told you last week, today is Miss Weasley’s first day. I’m sure you’ll have a lot to teach her.”</p><p>Pansy smiled politely and nodded. Ginny wanted to scream and pull her hair out.</p><p>“I think you’re going to absolutely love your first assignment,” Patil continued. “You’ll be reporting on the Quidditch World Cup between England and Chile!”</p><p>In any other circumstance this would have had Ginny whooping with joy. They’d get to attend for free, probably in the top box! And she’d see old teammates! But, Merlin, she just didn’t want to do anything at all with this crazy bigot!</p><p>“Fantastic!” Ginny formed her face into what intended to be a grin but probably came out more like a grimace. Pansy Parkinson continued to smile politely, which Ginny wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the witch do before. What a fake.</p><p>“Thank you,” Pansy said to Patil. “This is a fantastic opportunity. The Chilean Ministry of Magic has really been bringing South America more into European politics as their economy has started to boom.”</p><p>“I’m glad you’re both so enthusiastic, because this will be a lot of work. This is a huge story and all of Wizarding Britain will be paying attention,” Patil continued. That tension in Ginny's shoulders? Back with a vengeance. “We’ll need coverage of the event before and after the final match as well, obviously. For 10 days before the match, Miss Weasley can observe training and interview athletes.</p><p>Ginny felt a stir of excitement. Britain hadn’t been in the World Cup since she was 13 years old, and it’d been even longer since England had played. Part of Ginny wondered what on earth possessed Ms Patil to put her faith in her, who was brand new to journalism, but mostly she was just glad of her luck. This was her dream reporting opportunity, presenting itself right on her very first day. Maybe she wouldn’t even need to see much of Parkinson since they were reporting on such different things.</p><p>“Miss Parkinson, you’ll want to greet the Chilean Minister and ambassadors when they arrive as well. You’ll be observing Kingsley Shacklebolt and as he is up for re-election I expect you'll be especially observant. People will want information about all the families and famous people who will be camping out ahead of time, too of course. I’m putting a lot of faith in you ladies. Oh don't look so nervous Weasley! Miss Parkinson will be there to walk you through it.”</p><p> Ginny attempted to smooth her features.</p><p>“As we’ll need you there to report in case of anything really groundbreaking,” Patil continued, “we’ve reserved a two bedroom tent for you to share for the 10 days prior to the match and another 3 days after.”</p><p>Once again, Ginny felt her stomach drop. Nearly two weeks sharing a tent with this horrible, catty, self obsessed, evil, snotty, pug faced, gossipy, nasty person? She nearly found herself screaming obscenities.</p><p>“Would we be able to commute from home instead?” Ginny asked trying to to sound like she was begging. Though she was. Begging for her life, dear Merlin.</p><p>“In your application you said you’d like to do overnight trips and field work.” Ms Patil looked annoyed and Ginny shrank. “Transport to the match is complicated with portkeys and apparation points. And, you never know when a story will come up. We can’t afford for you to miss something because of the Ministry’s pathetic excuse for a transportation department. No, you’ll be required to stay there. I assure you, the tent we’ll provide will be comfortable and any groceries you would like will be transported directly to your tent.</p><p>“Now, I don’t think I need to remind you, Weasley, that the Cup is scheduled to start in twelve days, which means I’ll need you to be ready to leave in two. I know it's hardly time for you to settle in, Miss Weasley, but I don't read you as an office type anyways. At some point today or tomorrow, the two of you should meet to make some general plans. I trust that you can do that without my assistance.”</p><p>Ginny looked at Parkinson's eternally polite smile. Ginny could see the evil in those dark eyes though. How could an intelligent woman like Ms Patil not see it? Goes to show that age and wisdom don’t always go hand in hand.</p><p>More words were exchanged and Patil excused them both. Ginny strode quickly back to her desk, forcing herself to brainstorm: who she could contact and what research should she do? What type of news the Wizarding World of Britain wanted to hear regarding the much-anticipated match? How was she supposed to do this big of a story when she'd just barely set up her desk? And why couldn't Gabrielle be the international affairs journalist instead of evil pug-face? Gabrielle's international, right?! Ginny's mind swirled. She had already plopped into her chair before realizing that evil pug-face had been following her.</p><p>“You’d better not mess this up, Weasley,” she drawled. She said <em>“Weasley” </em> the same way one might say diarrhea. “It’s a really big story and we’re lucky for this opportunity.”</p><p>“Right,” Ginny spat back without a pause. “‘Cause nobody in their right mind would let you anywhere near anything that requires social skills. I can’t imagine how a screechy bigot like you even ended up with a job like this.”</p><p>“And I’m appalled to see that anyone thought you good for anything other than chasing bludgers around.” Parkinson was just as quick and Ginny was pleased to see her nearly black eyes narrowing. She’d hoped to ruffle some feathers. If Ginny felt this awful then Parkinson had no right to be so nonchalant. Pansy continued speaking with casual contempt: “Although I guess being in bed with the Chosen One has some benefits.”</p><p>“Bite me. Also, FYI, I’m a chaser. It’s quaffles I’d be chasing.” She couldn’t help the petty correction but opted to leave out the correction about Harry. Certainly the shallow Pansy Parkinson already knew from tabloids that Ginny and Harry were out-dated gossip.<br/>
Everything about this office animosity seemed sickeningly petty but Merlin was there was a wealth of perfectly valid hatred lurking beneath this bickering. </p><p>Pansy leaned forward with her hands on Ginny’s desk and spoke in an icy whisper: “Don’t fuck with me, Weasley. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”</p><p>“No, I know exactly who I’m dealing with. I remember you, Parkinson. I know exactly what you are: disgusting.”</p><p>The grown-up-Slytherin looked as though she wanted nothing more than to spit in Ginny’s face, but instead she stood back up tall, “Oh Little Weasley, I know you were raised poorly and that it’s not entirely your fault that you have absolutely no sense of decorum. I understand. Tomorrow we’ll discuss business, and that’s all this has to be.”</p><p>She turned, and while she was walking away she said, “Try to put some points together for us to discuss. I don’t want to waste time.”</p><p>Ginny watched her walk away, the expertly fitted robes swishing gently with each step. She shuddered and took another deep breath.</p><p>‘You’re a powerful, strong, and capable witch,’ she whispered sternly to herself. ‘Get a bloody grip."</p><p><em>’She can’t hurt me now. Not like she did. Because she holds no power over me,’</em> Ginny reassured herself silently, <em>‘and I couldn’t care less about her.’ </em></p><p>Ginny thought her internal monologue had subdued the immature fear-driven anger well enough. She didn’t want to blow her barely budding career with <em> the Prophet </em>. However, right before Parkinson was about to turn behind the row of cubicles, Ginny’s frustration paired up with her sub-par impulse control. It seemed like nobody was looking, so she cast a quiet tripping charm and enjoyed immature vindication as Parkinson’s ankle rolled off right out of one of those impracticably high heels.</p><p>***</p><p>Ginny arrived home to Luna singing a tune of her own creation and dancing around their tiny kitchen wearing an apron and waving around a wooden spoon. It smelled like a newly made up recipe, and Ginny breathed out a sigh of relief as she threw off her business casual robes and collapsed on the worn out plaid couch. Somehow, sitting at a desk doing research was even more exhausting than training vigorously on a broom all day.</p><p>Luna turned to her and tilted her head to the side.</p><p>“Looks like you’ve got a bit of a Grumble infection,” she said knowingly and brought her a bowl of soup. “I’ll brew you some Kava and a Cup of Sunshine right away.”</p><p>Ginny smiled at her best friend and sat up to accept the soup. She ate ravenously and finished in about 5 minutes, before Luna sat down with a soup of her own and informed her that whatever concoction was meant to cure the Grumbles would be ready shortly.</p><p>“Girl, you’re the best.” Ginny smiled at her best friend and flatmate. She pulled her ginger hair out of its neat bun and let it hang loose around her face and, letting her head fall backwards, she groaned.</p><p>“Mmmm,” Luna hummed enjoying her soup. “What is the matter?”</p><p>“I’m teamed with Pansy bloody Parkinson at<em> the Prophet</em>,” Ginny explained. “On my very first day! We’ll be working the Quidditch World Cup and camping together in the same tent for nearly two weeks.”</p><p>“Oh...” Luna nodded compassionately. “Yes, well Pansy was rather unkind at school, wasn’t she...”</p><p>“Exactly!” Now that Ginny was finished with her soup (very tasty), her fluffy pygmy puff Arnold IV bounced onto her lap and purred. She pet his soft fur and looked at his wide eyes, moping. “I don’t know how I’ll survive.”</p><p>“You’ve survived much worse than this I think. I’ll miss you quite a bit though,” Luna continued. “I think you ought to be happy, what with the World Cup being such an exciting affair. And Arnold IV will be good protection from the Wampoots that often gather in large crowds, so it should probably be fine. Just keep an eye on him and if he spontaneously whistles -”</p><p>Pygmy Puffs don’t whistle, but Ginny let her continue, well used to her fantastical ideas. It cheered her up to remember that Arnold could join her.</p><p>“Make sure to stay away from fires and tents , Pygmy Puffs have been known to burst into flame,” Luna advised.</p><p>There were few things that would make Ginny relax and smile when she was this stressed, but Luna Lovegood was one of those things.</p><p>“We’ll make sure to visit,” Luna continued. “Your brothers are going to watch the game so they’ll be there towards the end. And Harry Potter too.”</p><p>“That’s true…”</p><p>“And Rolf could maybe spend some time here with me!” Luna smiled dreamily. “I’ve often wondered what it would be like to spend several nights in a row together.”</p><p>Several nights in a row… two weeks. The time had never seemed so dauntingly long.</p><p>“She’s going to drive me crazy.” Ginny couldn’t get Parkinson off her mind; she tried to be present with Luna’s lovesick wondering.</p><p>“I hope that Rolf drives me crazy as well.” Luna had mischief in her eyes. “Sometimes crazy can be quite pleasant.”</p><p>“Yeah, but somehow I don’t think we’re talking about the same kind of crazy. Parkinson is just plain evil. I can’t imagine us not cursing each other,” said Ginny.</p><p>“It’s been a long time since Hogwarts. People change, you know that as well as anybody. Oh! Your Kava and Sunshine is ready!” Luna hurried into the kitchen, returning with a mug of yellow steaming liquid.</p><p>The two of them sat in silence for a second. Luna finished her soup and Ginny drank the anti-Grumble concoction. It helped a bit.</p><p>“Right.” Ginny said as she finished her mug. “Right. Let’s floo my brothers and Hermione and see who wants to go get a pint. Merlin knows I need one.”</p><p>“Wonderful! I’ll get my Fun Hat,” Luna twirled up to standing. “You know, Pansy Parkinson is rather pretty. Maybe she has some pretty inside her as well.”</p><p>Ginny shot her friend a glare that would have stopped even Charlie Weasley in his tracks. Luna, of course, was unaffected. As she flitted out of the room, Ginny stroked Arnold IV’s head, trying to quell the nerves that bubbled in her stomach.</p><p>***</p><p>Somehow, the prep meeting with Parkinson the next day went relatively smoothly. They both had done enough prep and research and had owled enough people that they simply had too much to discuss to get aggressively or off task. Parkinson was annoyingly civil, which made Ginny feel like she’d been acting like a child for letting memories of a different world stir up muck. She had spent many years processing the war and forgiving those who had hurt her. Forgiving them in theory at least… trying to let it go so that she could heal. However, forgiveness in theory seemed to be nothing like forgiveness in practice.</p><p>Ginny had spent too much time releasing grudges, had done too much work on herself for her to let one girl --who had also been a child at the time-- revert her to a pre-war adolescent animosity. But it's hard to rationalize with emotions.</p><p>There were other, more embarrassing things that made Ginny feel like an adolescent however, like how her eyes kept drifting to Parkinson’s mouth. 'People change' kept flitting through her mind. Some things don’t, Luna... for instance those lips were the same ones that she’d noticed 15 years ago. Though of course at the time she hadn’t realized the Queer attraction. Before everything with the Carrows, she had always been aware in a frivolously teenaged way that Pansy Parkinson had gorgeous lips.</p><p>It would be insane for any attraction to linger… However, Ginny wasn’t always that convinced of her own sanity. Dear Merlin, it had clearly been too long since she’d been on a proper date if she was noticing evil Slytherin lips. Out of fear that Parkinson was noticing her noticing, she impulsively asked,</p><p>“I like your lip color, what brand is that?”</p><p>Parkinson eyed her suspiciously before answering, “Coco Chanel, <em>Phenomene.</em>”</p><p>Ginny felt idiotic for her flimsy excuse. “Snobby pureblood brand. Full of enchantments for the eternally insecure. Of course.”</p><p>“It’s muggle actually,” Parkinson rolled her dark eyes. “French. Now, could we please discuss which perspectives we might focus on bringing to light for our assignment?”</p><p>And so they did.</p><p>The next two days passed quickly, faster than Ginny would have thought possible.</p><p>Their final day in the office Ginny went to Patil’s office and knocked. The door swung open and Patil looked up.</p><p>“Hello,” she smiled, putting down her quill. “Did you need something?”</p><p>“Um,” Ginny felt her ears burn. “If you’re busy I can come back…”</p><p>“No, I can spare a couple minutes. What can I help you with?” Ginny hesitated, but Ms Patil was looking at her expectantly and her voice had been kind. Ginny knew she needed to finish what she had started.</p><p>“I’m a bit apprehensive about my assignment…” she started, not knowing how to go on. Patil graciously filled the silence.</p><p>“Oh Ginny, I know. It’s a big assignment for your very first story. Usually I would’ve had Mr Gibble go with you but he’s been ill and I must respect his medical needs right now. We just lost our other Sports Journalist to a Gobstones team and so I'm throwing you in to sink or swim. I understand that it can be intimidating, but I'm confident that you can swim.”</p><p>“Of course--”</p><p>“Miss Parkinson is very experienced and I know she’ll take good care of you--” Ginny doubted that “--and you can correspond with Mr Gibble whenever you need. I heard one of your old teammates is on the national team this year as well? You’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Ginny said. “I’m just not sure…”</p><p>She didn’t want to reveal that she was harboring an old school girl rivalry and be viewed as immature.</p><p>“Don’t worry so much,” Patil encouraged her. “I wouldn’t have given you the assignment if I didn’t think you could handle it.”</p><p>“Thank you…”</p><p>“Now, if that’s all, I do have quite a bit to be getting on with.”</p><p>Ginny left the office with a feeling that hearkened back to when she realized she would be attending her 6th year at Hogwarts without Ron, Harry, and Hermione: alone.</p><p>***</p><p>I’m lying alone on my bed, staring up at my enchanted ceiling, finding all the constellations that Draco and I have always loved to look at together. Smoke hangs in the air above me, and my body feels like it’s floating even as my heels dig into the silk bedspread. Not even my finest Amsterdam herbal concoction is succeeding at calming me down. </p><p>I don’t know why I’ve been treating Ginny like the enemy. It’s like all the growth I’ve been trying to do in the past several years has abandoned me. I acted like a child today. Ginny absolutely hates me, and she has every reason to, and I don’t think there is anything I could possibly do to redeem myself.</p><p>***</p><p>Before Ginny could say ‘Quidditch,’ it was time for them to take a Portkey to the World Cup. Overall, the campground was very unlike the big empty field that Ginny remembered from the 1994 World Cup between Bulgaria and Ireland. These old woods were wild, with campsites of moss and pine needles nestled between tall trees. The two witches had found their campsite in stiff silence, but as they started to set up camp they needed to communicate. </p><p>Putting up a tent with somebody you love and communicate well with is a test of your relationship and might include some light nagging or bossing. Ginny knew this from the times she’d gone camping with her father and brothers. Setting up a tent with somebody you can’t stand--for instance, Pansy bloody Parkinson-- is nearly impossible.</p><p>Their voices filled the peaceful forest air with hostility.</p><p>“Oh poor little Pansy, you actually have to lift a finger for once in your life,” Ginny said when Parkinson dropped a stake swearing. “I know you wouldn’t want to break a nail.”</p><p>“Yes, well,” Pansy countered. “We can’t all be made for menial labor. Some people actually have brains.”</p><p>“If you’re so smart then why can’t you get it into your over-glorified-yet-beetle-sized brain that the poles! go! this way!--”</p><p>“Obviously, that is not how they go,” Pansy interrupted. Unlike Ginny’s, her voice remained irritatingly calm, “Just let me do it before you break something bigger than a nail. Like the tent.” And then, under her breath, “Completely incompetent.”</p><p>Hearing that slight did cause Ginny to nearly break the tent in anger. She managed to refrain from material damage, but her hot-tempered tongue was less easily managed.</p><p>“I’m Pansy Parkinson and I’m allergic to dirt and muggleborns,” Ginny mimicked in a high pitched voice as Pansy cast a casual cleaning spell on her soft feminine hands, ridding them of any evidence of their camp-making failure. Ginny’s own fingernails were short with dirt underneath.</p><p>“Bloody hell, Weasley, can you back down for ten minutes?” Pansy growled, still gripping her wand from the Scourgify. She glared down at the tent that stood lopsided and clearly wrong. “Why on earth couldn’t they supply us with a normal wizarding tent. This one just doesn’t respond when I try to use the regular charms!”</p><p>“Maybe you’re the incompetent one,” fought Ginny. “In my family we weren’t afraid of doing things the muggle way. If you’d just hold it how I told you we would have finished this half an hour ago. ”</p><p>“Yes, well, maybe I’m not always that obedient. Some people actually do their own thinking.”</p><p>They continued to fight with the tent - and each other. Their voices rose vociferously, and it was very fortunate that there were no other campers nearby. It would have reflected very poorly on <em>the Prophet</em> for them to be seen indulging their tempers.</p><p>Soon, the anger and bitterness and pure frustration was more than Ginny could reasonably handle. In a desperate attempt to undo each and every mistake Pansy had made all in one go, she pulled out her wand. The tent soared high up in the air, stakes flying everywhere. She laughed mirthlessly as one hit Pansy on the head.</p><p>“I don’t know how you manage to be so immature!” Pansy shrieked, patting down her hair from where the stake had mussed it.</p><p>“I don’t understand how you continue to be such a worthless toe-rag!”</p><p>And that’s how the jinxes began. Parkinson started it with a stinging hex, which Ginny countered with her famous Bat Bogey. Parkinson cast Tarentegra. Ginny sent over a tickle jinx. This continued as they unraveled, succumbing to sophomoric, hate-driven entropy. It wasn’t until Parkinson was on the floor rolling in outraged laughter and clutching her ribs for lack of air, her ears twice their usual size and Ginny was dancing frantically with her arms pinned against her sides in a partial body bind that a new voice called “Expelliarmus” and “Finite Incantatem.”</p><p>The two witches looked up to see an athletic young woman with light brown skin and big beautiful black hair laughing good-naturedly at the two of them. Parkinson stumbled to her feet and brushed off her robes trying to regain some dignity. Ginny however had a complete change of attitude (her brothers had always credited her for her brilliantly quick mood changes). She smiled broadly and ran to the newcomer and threw her arms out in a hug.</p><p>“Look at you!” Ginny gushed, pulling back to admire her former team member at arms-length. Her familiar face soothed Ginny immediately, gold nose ring and a dramatic undercut that left nearly half of her hair buzzed short. She was rough around the edges and smelled like dirt and sweat. “Alicia Spinnet.”</p><p>“The one and only,” Alicia said with a laugh, tucking a strand of ginger hair out of Ginny’s face. Ginny felt her chest expand and a blush rise up her cheeks. “You look exactly the same as you did last fall: Covered in grass stains and in a slapdash duel over… what? Setting up a tent?”</p><p>Ginny shrugged admittance. </p><p>“Oh, hey there.” Alicia nodded at Parkinson. “Do I recognize you? We must have gone to Hogwarts together. You’re from the Prophet I assume?”</p><p>Parkinson nodded silently and Ginny supplied: “Pansy Parkinson. Potter's year. Slytherin.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, I remember now.” Alicia didn’t seem phased and Ginny was half-sure that she was faking familiarity. “Bummer, all that with being a Slytherin. What was that though, almost a decade ago?”</p><p>Ginny was startled. She hadn’t realized it had been so long; sometimes she remembered details from the war as though they’d happened yesterday. Nobody answered Alicia’s question but she didn’t seem to mind.</p><p>Alicia raised her wand and said “Tectum Eriges” and the tent arranged itself neatly into a perfect standing position. Ginny clapped her friend hard on the back and then kissed her on the cheek.</p><p>Pansy Parkinson, who had been watching this exchange with a dazed expression on her face, suddenly seemed to come-to. Then with a groan of frustration she marched into the tent, leaving Ginny and Alicia alone, surrounded by trees.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah so this fic comes the quarantine-inspired trope of “stuck together.” But also, we all need a bit of escapism, especially this year, and I miss being around crowds. So Pansy and Ginny are going to be surrounded by a whole stadium worth of people!</p><p>This is my first multi-chapter, so I hope you’ll see me improving as a writer. Also when I started this, it was gonna be a one shot. Ha!</p><p>Oh, I live on feedback, tell me what you think :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. "intentions toward chamomile abandoned"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for the love! Thanks Liebes for being my beta and hero. Enjoy chapter 2!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What on Hecate’s green earth is my life. Has the great Hera judged me unworthy and sentenced me to the eternal torture that is Ginny Weasley?  I march into the freshly-erected tent, glance at the kitchenette and shared living space before checking out the two bedrooms. I select the slightly larger, westward facing room and fall down onto the bed, resting my face in my hands. It hasn’t even been a full day and already I feel like my brain is boiling and my chest is exploding with frustration. Stupid tents. </p><p>And worse still is the sudden introduction of a vaguely familiar stranger with strong arms, long legs and an obnoxiously disarming charm. Another member of Dumbledore’s Groupies I think? The chemistry between her and Ginny was tangible. The air around them positively buzzed. Like a crazed wasp or a cheap violin with an off-center sound post.</p><p>But Ginny’s straight as a firebolt, isn’t she? I take a deep breath, telling myself to be rational. What I’m seeing between the two women is obviously coming from my overeager, dangerously queer imagination. Maybe that’s just what teammates are like; I certainly remember Draco and the Slytherin team patting each others’ butts in that boy jocks way. Then again, maybe that’s a bit telling itself, considering Draco’s secret proclivities. And what I happen to know about the Slytherin quidditch team.</p><p>Back to the issue at hand: wouldn’t it have been in the tabloids? Ginny was not only a famous chaser for the Holyhead Harpies but was the feminine half of <i>Witch Weekly’s</i>  90's Sweethearts. First rate public heartthrob. There’s no way that her love life has stayed out of public record. The love story with Harry Potter was a long time ago though…  and I haven’t read tabloids since I was a bratty Hogwarts student with a deep sense of secret self-loathing. I raise my head up with the idea to owl Blaise, who I know for a fact has a <i>Witch Weekly</i> subscription. Not that I care about Weasley’s personal affairs, just you know, keep your enemies closer and all that griffinshit.</p><p>***</p><p>The first few days reporting onsite, Ginny managed to avoid Parkinson fairly effectively. She spent most of her time researching the various players on the Chilean team, nearly all of whom she was unfamiliar. They hadn’t arrived in  England yet, and it was urgent that she learn the basics of their histories  before they showed up. </p><p>In her first article sent to Gibble she speculated that Chile’s starting seeker Antinano Bravo would end the game quickly continuing his record breaking streak. Ginny spent some time praising the English chasers too, mentioning how fresh blooded Alicia Spinnet may score enough goals to win despite Bravo. England’s seeker, Toni Thompson wasn’t weak either.</p><p>The English team hadn’t arrived just yet either, expect Alicia, who had opted to arrive early and settle in. Ginny couldn’t help but think that Alicia had secretly come early to spend more time with her. When she confronted Alicia about it, the other woman had merely winked and changed the topic.</p><p>It was a relief to Ginny that Alicia was here. Their long interviews felt more like passionate conversations about Quidditch than like work. They wrapped up every interview with recreational flying, which Ginny rationalized as “studying Alicia Spinnet’s flying style.” Truthfully, after being teammates for seven years Ginny would’ve recognized Alicia’s flying style even if she were Polyjuiced. </p><p>Alicia had been in Gryffindor house with her and had attended the Yule Ball casually with George. In Ginny’s fourth year they were not only teammates during Ginny’s brief stint as seeker, but they also trained together in Dumbledore’s Army. However, it wasn’t until they played together as Holyhead Harpies that they became close.</p><p>Very close.</p><p>The first time they’d hooked up had been after Ginny’s first winning match on the team. They’d been buzzing with adrenaline and victory, and as newer team members had been delegated to post-game broom care. Thinking back on it Ginny wasn’t sure how well-polished the brooms had gotten. </p><p>At the age of 18, Ginny hadn’t fully realized that she was attracted to the whole gender spectrum. Harry had left nearly half a year previously, and boys had always been so eager to gain her affections. Boys were easy. She found, however, that most teenage boys were too eager in many ways and usually didn’t know their way around a female body. In contrast, Alicia had known exactly what she was doing...</p><p>
  <i> They were alone in the locker room, joking back and forth, when Alicia announced that she’d had “enough broom polishing” and was ready to move on with her night. With a few  flicks of her wand, the brooms flew into the cupboard and the shower taps turned on. Two seconds later, Alicia’s Quidditch kit was on the floor and she stepped under the hot running water, her eyes closed and lips parted in a groan.  Waterfalls cascaded down her sculpted back body, sliding across her hips and dripping down between her thighs. Her neatly trimmed black curls between her legs caught droplets of water, reminding  Ginny of dew drops on grass.</i>
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  <i>Ginny looked away, suddenly shy, as she felt her cheeks grow warm. For a moment, she didn’t know why her hands shook as she shrugged off her green and gold robe. She didn’t understand why all the fair little hairs on her freckled arms were standing up, creating goosebumps in the hot steamy air.</i>
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  <i>When Ginny dared to turn back and look at Alicia, their eyes locked. Alicia’s face was lit with desire and Ginny felt a sudden pulse of energy surge up through her body.  With a swallow, she understood exactly what was going on. What all their casual jokes and touches were… more than friendly. Flirtations.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Oh” she said quietly, this was the lightbulb moment. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Fearlessly, she sprung to action and stepped into the shower, kissing Alicia hard on the lips. She hadn’t bothered to take off her underclothes and still wore a white tank top over a black sports bra. Her light-weight black shorts stuck to her ass and thighs. Her mouth explored Alicia’s, and her hands explored Alicia’s wet body.</i>
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  <i>“So, how about taking off all this?” Alicia had pulled back to look into Ginny’s eyes, her hands tugging lightly at the soaked wet tank top. “I know you’re new to the whole--”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Ginny shut her up with a kiss and groaned agreement, “yeah, yes, okay, yeah.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Halfway through that second ‘yeah,’ Alicia tore off Ginny’s shirt. Then Ginny struggled to take off the tight, wet sports bra. It got stuck on her shoulders with her clumsy movements. Both girls laughed, never stopping touching each other, eager and bubbling with lust. Ginny nearly fell over trying to pull off wet shorts, and Alicia steadied her with a firm ass-grab. Then their tongues were in each other’s mouths again, teeth biting and pulling on each other’s lips. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>As they continued, Ginny got water in her eyes more than once, but she didn’t care. She could have drowned and would’ve been alright with that. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“How bad do you want me?” Alicia’s pupils were large and her eyelids hung heavy. The water was still beating down on her muscular back, just barely splashing Ginny’s face.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“So bad, so fucking bad” Ginny panted. “Please.” </i>
</p><p>And that was how Ginny had sex with a woman for the first time. Thinking back on it Ginny recalled how natural it had felt. She’d been intimate like this with Harry, and Michael Corner, and she was confident with her body. Being with another lady had felt easy, because she already understood the feminine form.</p><p>She couldn’t even begin to remember how many times Alicia had made her come. She remembered the first time she ever saw somebody orgasm without being touched, just by watching her come. She learned quickly that eating somebody out for the first time should not be attempted while in the shower -it was like being waterboarded. Alicia was her lady-sex guru, and boy had Ginny needed it. Like anybody new at something she stumbled through a lot of it before it became less clumsy. But Alicia had never seemed to mind.</p><p>It was never serious. They’d established that the first night and stuck to it- but they did continue to have sex every once in a while. A few times a year after a particularly good game or after going out for drinks. Sometimes when one of them was bored or especially randy. Many orgasms were had.</p><p>Ginny was well aware that Alicia had other lovers and they talked about protective charms to prevent STDs and such. In the years following, Ginny had dated a boy from Germany for a few months, and a gender-queer Parisian for another few. Alicia dated a Healer for a year and a half during which Ginny and Alicia chose to be entirely platonic, but after the breakup Ginny was there ready with some reliable rebound sex. It was comfortable and they were very good friends.</p><p>Harry Potter remained the only person Ginny had ever been in love with, and she didn’t feel the need to come out to her family and friends until she fell in love again. She wasn’t ashamed at all, it just never seemed like the right time. She felt even now, 10 years later, that her family was still recovering from the war. It would make them uncomfortable. </p><p>Luna knew of course; first, because very little made her uncomfortable; and second, because Ginny didn’t particularly feel like sneaking lovers into their flat through her window. The Holyhead Harpies all knew as well.  Seeing as about half of the team was also queer,  none of them cared. They also understood and respected why some things had to remain private. </p><p>Once, Ginny and Alicia received a lecture from their coach about “not shitting where you eat.” Ginny informed their coach that that phrase was unnecessarily vulgar and that she would do as she liked. The final agreement was that as long as it wasn’t a problem, it wasn’t a problem. And it never became a problem. </p><p>On the second day of being a reporter at the Quidditch World Cup Ginny flew with Alicia around in the huge amphitheater with empty stands and reenacted Ginny’s first time in the World Cup shower room. Lightheaded and physically beat, the women had kissed goodnight and snuck off separately because although Ginny was now the Media, there were other gossip fiends out there just itching to publish a story on two famous chasers’ queer-as-fuck affair. </p><p>Sneaking around was second nature to Ginny and avoiding journalists was practically recreational in comparison to her experience sneaking past the Carrows and Inquisitorial Squad. Besides, after Alicia’s hands had summoned forth the height of pleasure in Ginny’s body it was difficult to be concerned about anything at all.  Maybe these couple weeks wouldn’t be so stressful after all, Ginny thought to herself as she walked back to her tent where she hoped Pansy would soundly asleep.</p><p>***</p><p>It’s 2am and I can’t sleep. Surprise surprise. I frequently can’t sleep until morning when I am suddenly unable to get up. Tonight I’m curled up on one corner of the large black leather sofa that takes up a lot of space in the modestly sized living room of our <i>Prophet</i> provided tent. </p><p>The hexagonal room had a few arm chairs and a fireplace with a red-brick chimney. <i>The Prophet</i> had it hooked up to the floo network so that all <i> Prophet </i> employees had a convenient way to get to the World Cup quickly. Ginny and I had both added names to a list of acceptable visitors though I have no idea who her’s are. My parents were not added to the list, and as far as they knew it wasn’t connected to the network, although the chances of them visiting were nill. </p><p>They love me but they don’t really know me beyond what they need me to be: a perfect pureblood Pansy. My father values generosity, familial loyalty, and prosperity. My gorgeous home in Wizarding Chelsea is testament to that. I am grateful. I also have gratitude for the fine taste and ambition my mother has instilled in me. I’ve been given opportunities, luxuries and a little pug-nose. I figure great asses must go back for generations of Parkinson witches too. </p><p>We’ve always spent holidays in France with the Malfoys, so in a way, pureblood culture has given me my best friend and a ticket to a secure future. Sometimes my parents give me so much praise it’s an intoxicating relief from their high expectations and harsh judgements. Naturally, I desperately crave their approval, even when I don’t see them very often. </p><p>This tent is a dump in comparison to other dwellings I’ve inhabited, but it feels both open and cozy. The ceiling drapes from the top of the chimney in off-white fabric until it meets the wooden beams that frame canvas walls. The wooden floor is rough and stained dark. I charmed stained glass onto the high circular windows that peak out from folds of cloth. A large, french window faces out into the trees and has a window seat. Currently Ginny’s ridiculous Pygmy Puff lay snoozing on the white cushions. </p><p>I spelled the coffee table black in honor of Amy Winehouse. I’ve known for a long time that all proper living spaces are ornamented with skulls and so I conjured several and arranged them around the room. I cast a permanent sticking charm so Ginny has no choice but to learn to admire them. I put up with her patchwork throw pillows and she refrained from hexing me when I hung my taxidermied bugs in frames on the canvas walls. We satisfied our displeasure with shouting and an eventual compromise that left this room with an eclectic decor. </p><p>One side of the room is a kitchenette with a burner, sink, and table just big enough for two. On our first morning here Ginny conjured a vase of white daisies to sit on the table. I transfigured the unsightly 70s lamp on the side table to an ornate silver candelabra. The dripless black candles are charmed to emit more light than natural flames would naturally so that I can clearly see the parchment on which I’m drawing. </p><p>My small fingers are black from charcoal and it’s only due to a great amount of practice that the drawing hasn’t smudged. As per usual I cast an impervious on my off white silk nightgown. Marina and the Diamonds blasts from the wireless. I boiled water for tea, but I sip from a  glass of  Bordeaux instead, intentions towards chamomile abandoned. </p><p>Weasley isn’t here despite the late hour and I have the vague suspicion that she won’t be coming back tonight. I bet she’s with that Spinnet girl and I know it’s wildly inappropriate but I keep imagining them together. Blaise told me he hasn’t heard anything about Weasley’s love life ever since Potter pulled some power moves with the press. Still, I have my speculations. My drawing is of two womanly figures, both athletic and holding broomsticks. </p><p>Then an athletic female figure enters the tent, holding a broomstick. Red hair hangs wet, clinging to her neck. Every inch of exposed skin is covered with freckles. I know because I’m looking at every exposed inch of her. She’s glowing and relaxed.</p><p>“Oh hey,” She sighs and kicks off shoes. </p><p>“Hello,” My voice is soft and without thinking I wave my wand at the wireless and it switches from Marina and the Diamonds to play chill wizard hip hop. I close my sketchbook quickly and tuck it out of sight. If I wasn't too cold-blooded to blush I'd certainly be blushing. My little white nightgown feels simultaneously too revealing and not quite sexy enough. Her gaze lingers and my nipples harden, unencumbered by a bra. It’s just that it’s a bit chilly, is all. Her gaze doesn’t last long though and I feel silly for thinking she was looking. She crosses to the sink for some water.</p><p>“What,” I say “Too dense to cast an <i>augimenti</i>?”</p><p>She laughs, relaxed and graceful, “Whatever.”</p><p>Again, if I was capable of showing embarrassment I'd be red right now. Why do I have to be such a tosser all the time? Because if you let somebody actually like you your whole self image would implode came Draco’s imagined answer. </p><p>“You were out late,” I say. Good one, Pansy, real keen sense of observation. Can I just melt into the couch? I should go back into my room. God, how did I not notice that this nightgown is practically like not wearing anything? I don’t know if I ought to tug at the silk to cover more of me up, or if I’d rather cross my legs to expose more skin.</p><p>“Yeah,” Weasley agrees with a satisfied smile. “What are you,  my mum? Shove off, I’m completely knackered. Mind putting a silencing charm up if you’ll be awake for a while?”</p><p>“Fine,” I reply automatically, my brain fuzzy. </p><p>“Cool, thanks,” Ginny rolls her shoulders and neck. “‘Night.”</p><p>“Sleep well.”</p><p>What the actual fuck Pansy! Why did you just tell her to sleep well? Might as well whisper sweet dreams darling while you’re at it.</p><p>“Oh I will,” Ginny smirks and I nearly lose it. Absent-mindedly I fiddle with the emerald necklace around my neck, trying to ground myself in reality. </p><p>It’s not until she’s shut the door and I hastily whisper <i>Silencio</i> that I can process exactly why she was so relaxed and while my skin felt on fire when I looked at her. Goddamn Spinnet. Ginny Weasley is well and properly shagged. Also, she’s 100% attracted to birds.</p><p>***</p><p>Ginny woke up the next morning feeling well rested and smiled up at the tent window that let sunlight tumble across her white sheets. Her arms stretched above her head and her toes pointed to the floor. What a glorious day to have a body she thought to herself. To warm up that wonderful body she pushed herself on her morning sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, and leg-ups. She could just tell it was going to be a really top notch day. </p><p>She decided that this morning was the kind for an egg scramble with lots of vegetables and probably some hash browns on the side. The ingredients she had brought were in the mini fridge just calling out to her empty morning tummy. Throwing on her old Harpies jersey over her mid thigh boxer briefs she stumbled into the kitchen and turned on the kettle.</p><p>It wasn’t until Ginny was halfway through scrambling the eggs that Pansy came out of her bedroom with a satin eye mask sitting crooked on her head and wearing that same silky nightgown. Really, Ginny would’ve expected a more Slytherin pajama set, maybe green with skulls and leather. Do they make leather teddies? Of course they do. She had to admit however, that the tattoos that adorned Pansy’s pale skin challenged the relative innocence of the white nightgown. Ginny’s eyes trailed the short hem of the teddy and noticed the inky flowers that blossomed across her thigh.</p><p>Ginny didn’t even try to not look and she noticed that Pansy was aware of her gaze and apparently didn’t mind. No shame. The girl honestly looked too grumpy and out of it for shame. She already had a big mug in her hands and was drinking from it reverently.</p><p>The first few days living in the tent together Parkinson had only appeared from her bedroom perfectly made up with freshly pressed robes and her black bob shiny and tidy. Now her short hair hung messy and yesterday’s makeup smudged across her eyelids. Perhaps last night had broken some sort of boundary and now that Ginny’s seen her in her sleepwear once she might as well see it all the time. </p><p>Ginny figured, if she has to live with somebody she loathes for two weeks she might as well appreciate the annoyingly appealing view. Spending time with Alicia helped her to lighten up. Before they said goodnight at the quidditch pit Alicia had reminded her: “Fred would tell you not to take it all so seriously. Don’t let her get to you.”</p><p>“Want some eggs?” Ginny asked, determined to let her good mood dictate her actions. However as familiar loathing scratched at her stomach she almost took back her offer. But then she looked at how many eggs she had made. Out of habit she had scrambled a whopping serving of high protein breakfast that would’ve made sense if she was to be flying for over eight hours. As a journalist this helping size was absurd. Luna was often very helpful as an assistant egg eater on days like this, but it looked like Pansy Parkinson would have to do for today.</p><p>“That’s unexpected,”  Parkinson said straight faced. “Thanks Weasley.”</p><p>Ginny shrugged and sat down at the table, shoving her face full of hash browns to avoid conversation. </p><p>The Slytherin plated herself up a considerably smaller portion of eggs and threw back a small orange potion. Ginny resisted asking about it, reminding herself that she didn’t care. She also reminded herself to maybe get dressed before leaving her room, it was far too intimate for Parkinson to see her in just pants. Habits from living with Luna weren’t appropriate here. Maybe Parkinson would get the hint and also wear real clothes in the shared space… Ginny couldn’t decide whether she wanted that or not. Her hesitation made her want to hex Parkinson, but they were eating, so she resisted the urge. Also, Ginny scolded herself, there were many more legitimate reasons to hex her than for her good looks.</p><p>“Weasley, ” Parkinson sat down at the table across from her, not making eye contact. “I just wanted to say…”</p><p>“Yes?” Ginny spoke with her mouth full and gave zero shits about the flecks of potato flying onto the table.</p><p>“I apologize,” Pansy continued, pushing her eggs around on her plate.</p><p>“For what, specifically?” Ginny was taken by surprise. </p><p>“For…” Parkinson finally looked up at her, “you know. Everything.”</p><p>Ginny bristled. “Well that’s not really going to cut it, is it?”</p><p>Pansy nodded and they ate in silence for a bit. Ginny felt something small melt inside her chest as they ate.</p><p>“But,” She ended up saying, “if we’re going to live together, work together, like we’ve been forced to…”</p><p>Pansy gulped coffee and Ginny finally set down her fork in a gesture of conviction. </p><p>“Let’s just call each other by our first names and try not to injure each other. It’ll get weird if we have this kind of animosity in public, right? So, I still hate you and everything, but I’m going to call you Pansy.”</p><p>Pansy sat still for a beat then said, “That seems fair.”</p><p>The Slytherin’s lips quirked up in what could be read as either a hesitant smile or a taunting smirk, “Thanks, Ginny.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading, I hope you had fun. Let me know!<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. “you’ve really got it bad for that girl, don’t you?”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to my wonderful, illustrious and fantastic beta Liebes! Readers, she's just the absolute best.<br/>Thanks for the kudos :)<br/>*there's some smut in this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I’ve spent this past week researching Chilean history, of which I was woefully ignorant. I spent an entire morning and afternoon sucking up to a Chilean historian and attempting to lay the groundwork to explore Chile’s 20th century role in global politics. Patil also wants me to somehow tie my research back to international Quidditch.</p><p>Now, upon learning that Chile's muggle government was run by the  brutal dictator Pinochet for a quarter century, my inner Ravenclaw shines through with burning questions. During that time, the Ministers for Magic were mere puppets to the dictator. But were they just puppets, or did they fully support <i>la dictadura</i>? Did the wizarding world of Chile approve of their MoM? How did they hold on to power ? What creates power? Our readers ought to know… or at least I want to.</p><p>Because, who knew that  Pinochet was arrested for murder <i>right here</i> in Britain in 1998? Very few British wizards, for one. Considering it was the same year that the All Courageous Harry Potter finally offed the Dark Lord, nobody in England was giving any shits about muggle politics in South America. </p><p>There’s a lot to unpack, and this alone should be enough to distract me from the warm, fluttery feelings I get every time I realize Ginny is in the tent with me. Moreoften, however, I find that Ginny’s tangled hair and freckled arms are infuriatingly distracting me from my work. </p><p>Earlier today I managed to land an interview that is going to completely change how English witches and wizards understand the Chilean Goblins. Or, at least, it might affect the people who actually read past headlines and gossip columns. I walk back from my meeting with the Chilean Goblin Liaison, Dibrut, glowing with success. I think that, towards the end, Dibrut spoke almost candidly to me. She seems like the kind of person I could talk shit with. I hope she likes what I end up writing, as I plan on using a lot of direct quotes.</p><p> Following the interview I spend three hours on a conjured picnic blanket by myself crouching over parchment, writing and revising a story while the interview is fresh in my mind. Despite my body aching from sitting on the ground for so long, it’s not until the rough draft is complete that I stand up to retire for the day. </p><p>My body savours the movement of walking; and when I walk, I strut. My red heels are charmed to treat the grass as if it’s marble. The sun is casting golden light through the tall trees, presaging dusk. The fresh perfume of springtime pollen mingles with summer’s mossy, woodsy scent as the earth turns toward June. The fairy-lit path is just starting to glow as I walk back to the Prophet tent. I’m thinking I’ll smoke a nice little joint and relax into some drawing or watercolors. That is, at least, until I step through the door and see something that halts my breath and stops me in my tracks.</p><p>Ginny is splayed across our couch, her hair a mess and her lips slightly parted in a sigh. Laying above her, propped up by well built arms is Alicia Spinnet. Alicia is stripped down to a sport’s bra and joggers and, although she’s undisputedly sexy, it’s Ginny that makes my mouth dry. Her light blue bra lies abandoned on the floor, and her pink nipples are visible and perked up, begging for stimulation. It looks like Alicia was just about to answer that call, her fingers reaching up to twist and squeeze, but then, at once, they both see me. Alicia blushing, a bit sheepish, but not too fazed. She sits up while gently and quickly covering Ginny with a t-shirt. </p><p>Ginny’s eyebrows raise up with horror, and the sudden redness of her face could put a cherry to shame. She clutches the t-shirt close and stands up to turn around, hiding her breasts as she dons the shirt. I notice as she moves that the only article of clothing she wears is a short skirt that leaves very little to the imagination. The soft pale curve of her thighs makes my pussy clench and I swallow, trying not to look.</p><p>“I thought you had an interview!” Ginny shrieks.</p><p>“I did.” I hope my voice isn’t too rough. “It’s over.”</p><p>“Clearly!” Ginny is grabbing bits of clothing off the floor, and although I’ve attempted to avert my eyes I still catch a glance of a little blue thong thrown onto the coffee table. Dear Merlin I don’t know if I’ll ever think of that coffee table the same way again.</p><p> “Seriously, haven’t you ever heard of knocking!?” Ginny cries. </p><p>“Well how about you get a room instead of shamelessly doing--” I stutter (much to my humiliation) “doing <i>that</i> in shared spaces! We are adults with boundaries, for Hecate’s sake! I wasn’t aware that our Prophet-provided tent is actually the Saphos Refuge for Debauchery! Maybe you should hang a sign on the door next time that says <i>Flying Dyke Haven: please do not disturb!</i>’”</p><p>Ginny apparently doesn’t know or care how to respond to that and instead bolts to her bedroom. Alicia follows slowly, saying: “Sorry, got a bit carried away and thought you’d be gone for a while.”</p><p>“Right.” I can’t look at her. I kind of hate her right now, which I know isn’t fair. She follows the hot-and-bothered Ginny, leaving me standing alone and with a serious girl hard-on. I close my eyes and try to slow my breath. I’m not sure if I can move.</p><p>It’s barely two minutes before I hear soft and poorly muffled moans coming from their closed door. I know my anger has to do with many things other than their inconsideration, but they might have tried harder to be discreet. I can hear them like we’re in the same room thanks to the fact that we’re in a bloody tent. Have these ladies never heard of <i>silencio</i>?</p><p>I sit down on the couch, the image of Ginny exposed upon it’s leather cushions stained onto my mind. I clench my legs together and tighten and release my cunt repeatedly trying to clench in time with Ginny’s loud breaths. Her soft, beautifully rhythmic sounds. My hand slips down between my thighs, remaining on top of my robes. I’m torturing myself and can’t believe what I’m doing. Is it wrong to listen? Almost definitely. </p><p>But <i>clearly</i> they must not have cared too much. These walls are made of canvas for heathen’s sake! A fantasy flashes through my mind of Ginny inviting me to watch and now my body is telling me it’s too late for me to try to block out the sound.</p><p>I can tell these moans are mostly Ginny and there’s just nothing for it. I cast a nonverbal locking charm on their door. Yeah, they are unwittingly locked in their own room, but so what? Once a Slytherin, always a snake. I also lock the tent’s front door and the floo, because I am a  responsible adult woman who makes good choices. And unlike certain famous Chasers, I don’t act like a wanton teenager. <i>Mostly</i> don’t act like a teenager that is… but who really can help their libido anyways? We’re all just helpless to hormones after all.</p><p>So, I part my robes and reach down inside of my pants to run my hand over the soft hair on my mound. I don’t go lower quite yet, instead pressing down and savouring my kegels and the sound of Ginny’s bed rocking. She’s panting and whispering words I cannot hear. I’m only so patient with myself and my fingers move down to dip into the wet, hot part. I bring my juices up onto my fingers so that when I circle my clit it is slippery wet. </p><p>I can’t go slowly for long. She sounds so good. I apply more pressure, up and around, faster and faster. My clit is hard and swollen and I bite my tongue feeling so, so naughty. But this is so nice, and Ginny sounds like she’s given up on her half-assed attempt to be quiet.</p><p>“Oh god,” I hear through the wall. “Oh yes, oh, oh, ooohh…”</p><p>I grit my teeth, point my toes, and slide my clit between my shaking fingers to squeeze it from side to side. I’m slowly falling down on the couch, onto my stomach. The pillow that held Ginny’s head just moments ago is now underneath me, firmly between the couch and my hips. My hand pressed against myself, I grind my hips down. My eyes are closed and I see her freckled face and gold-brown eyes beneath me. I hear her panting in the other room but I imagine that she’s looking up at me, those beats of breath turning to moans for <i>me</i>.</p><p>What would her sinewy body feel like against mine? Muscular but soft? I want to know so badly.  <i>Want.</i>I imagine that her pussy slides eagerly against my thigh as I ride her. I want her so bad and I’m realising with every thrust that I’ve wanted her for so long. That old Hogwarts crush is coming back with a vengeance. This desire feels like it’s coming up from somewhere deep inside me, buried for so long by shame. And I can hear Ginny cumming on repeat. </p><p>Quickly, I pull my fingers up to my mouth and taste myself. I love the taste of pussy, and I yearn to know what she tastes like. Then, roughly, I plunge those two fingers inside myself and convulse. I lift my hips to go deeper, ignoring the stretch in my wrist, reaching for that spot. I find it at the same time that Ginny lets out a groan. There’s no way she can’t know that I’m hearing this. I wonder if she is performing a little bit extra for me. I like to think she is. In and out my hand moves inside me, filling me and leaving me empty. </p><p>Oh shit. Ginny stopped making noise. Oh god. I stand up quickly, feeling lightheaded, and tidy up my robes. One nonverbal “Alohamora” shot towards Ginny’s door and I’m inside my room, panting. I pour some water from my wand and drink deep. I don’t know what time it is, but I’m so completely spent. I don’t know if I’ve orgasmed enough to put myself to sleep early and consider the not unpleasant thought that I may have a long night with myself. </p><p>***</p><p>The next morning, our fourth day in the tent, Draco comes over. By morning I mean noon… it was a late night and I’ll just work late tonight. Sue me, but I’m not great at working to a schedule and I didn’t have any interviews this morning. I really have no idea how I’ve managed to maintain this successful career with the Prophet, but ambition goes a long way. Even without a work ethic. </p><p>Anyway, Draco arrives at the World Cup with his parents and when he saunters alone into our tent he resembles a small wounded bird that’s learned all the lyrics to “We Will Rock You.”  I’m sitting on the leather couch (which yes, by the way, turned me on for a bit) with a lap full of work and he plops down dramatically. I hurry to move my parchment because I know he won’t wait before falling to lie down with his head in my lap.</p><p>“I’m going to die,” he groans. “Everything I’ve been through, all the work I’ve done. It’s all for naught.”</p><p>“Oh Draco,” I sigh fondly and run my fingers through his platinum hair, “tell me.”</p><p>So he falls into confessions and guides us through his narrative via whinging. His parents are driving him crazy: <i>“It’s not that I wish he was still in Azkaban, not really….”</i> and he still misses Harry even years after he left, <i>“Maybe I should just suck it up and follow him to Romania and make him admit that there’s something here…” </i> and most importantly, <i>“I think this haircut is the worst one I’ve ever gotten, do you think I’m hideous?”</i></p><p>I’m the only person he can be like this around. He’s kept up this harsh, regal demeanor to others but I’m his best friend, and I’m so lucky. </p><p>“Oh sweet boy,” I croon, half in jest. “You’ll always be beautiful to me, even when your hairline has receded past the point your father’s has reached and when you’re wrinkly and look like the late, bat-shit insane Dumbledore.”</p><p>“Ugh, let’s just never get old,” Draco replied. </p><p>“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of well, everything?” I laugh. “I don’t think our collective sense of self preservation is going to allow either of us to ever die.”</p><p>“Maybe we become Vampires? Young and beautiful together could be a good look for us,” he suggests. “I know a guy.”</p><p>Without warning, Ginny bursts into the tent, looking as though she’s running from something, rushing to something, or both. My mind instantly jumps to last night, and I take a deep breath. </p><p>“Hey, Ginny,” I say hoping my voice doesn’t give me away. “Raging storm of Hippogriffs out there? You look rough. I could put a kettle on?”</p><p>Ginny barely responds with half a jock-like grunt and I try to give her the benefit of the doubt. She looks seriously stressed.</p><p>“Are you oka--” she doesn’t let me finish my sentence and suddenly raises her wand.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Ginny demands, the Killing Curse practically beaming out of her eyes. </p><p>Draco jumps up leaving my lap. A gentleman stands when a lady enters a room, I suppose.</p><p>“Ginny,” he says, his face the picture of composure and respect. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”</p><p>“It’d be nicer to see a Blast Ended Screwt burning down the tent,” Ginny snarls. “Or rather, it would  be nice to see you, if you were lying face down in thestral guts choking on your own vomit.”</p><p>“Of course, I hope you’ve been well yourself,” Draco replies smoothly as if Ginny was politely engaging in civilized conversation. “But I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”</p><p>He looks down at me, his face betraying his hurt so that only I could see. He knows as well as I do that Ginny has every right to hate us even more than she does. I personally am continually surprised that she hasn’t offed me yet.  “I’ll see you later, Pansy. Maybe you could come to the Malfoy tent--”</p><p>“No, I don’t think so,” I say, grabbing his arm and keeping him in place. Draco desperately needs and deserves a refuge from his beloved parents. I stand up and turn to my irrate tentmate. “Ginny, please, this is my space as well and Draco is here as my guest--”</p><p>“I know that you, <i>Parkinson</i>, enjoy the company of Death Eater scum, but I actually have standards for who I allow in my place of residence.”</p><p>“Yes, well,” I reply, my voice freezing, “this tent was provided by the <i>Prophet</i> and is as much my space as yours. You had Alicia over last night, I assumed we were setting a standard of allowing visitors.”</p><p>“If you had a problem with my having a woman over then that’s just your own prejudice showing.” Ginny looked down her perfectly straight and petite nose at me. The memory of overhearing Alicia and Ginny temporarily drives all other thoughts from my mind and I can’t respond fast enough. Ginny continues in a blaze of loathing: “I, however, have legitimate protests to him being in my space.”</p><p>“Oh Weasley,” Draco snarls, his effort towards civility slipping, “that’s right, Pansy absolutely hates lesbians.”</p><p>I have no idea how on Slytherin’s green earth Ginny misses the sarcasm in his voice but she clearly does and sparks practically shoot out of her nostrils. Not sure where this fixation on her adorable nose is coming from but it makes me really resent her at this moment…</p><p>Then she throws a Bat Bogey hex at him --you’d think she would’ve picked a new favorite by now-- and he doesn’t attempt to fight back. Arnold the Pygmy Puff rolls under the couch to take cover, and I fleetingly feel bad for the little pink creature.</p><p>“<i>Finite</i>,” I sigh, waving my wand at Draco. The hex ends, leaving him red-faced. “Ginny, how about if you don’t like having Draco here, you just leave.”</p><p>Her glare turns to me and she says, “Your taste in men makes me sick. Still fawning over Death Eaters? Pathetic.”</p><p>I just roll my eyes. If she only knew.</p><p>“Really, I’ll just go,” Draco steps towards the door of the tent but I grab his arm, nails digging in.</p><p>“No, sweet Draco, stay” I exaggerate my affection for my best friend in the same way I’ve been practicing my whole life. It’s second nature, and I can practically hear Draco’s internal eye-roll. Winding Ginny up brings me some sort of sick joy. Maybe it’s the way her breath gets shallow and fast in anger. Maybe I just like that I have the power to get a reaction from her. “Ginny, grow up and get out.”</p><p>In a show of uncharacteristic obedience, Ginny pivots and walks away, throwing a jelly legs jinx over her shoulder as she goes.</p><p>She already makes my legs feel like jello, though, so I don’t know how much it really affects me.</p><p>“He better be gone when I get back,” I hear her say as the tent door flaps close. After a beat I lean over to scoop Arnold IV up from under the couch and his quivering calms when I stroke his cute little tummy. Draco raises an eyebrow at me as if to say <i>really? Cute isn’t usually your thing</i>. My responding look says “<i>oh bugger off, I do what I want.</i>” I’m betting that Arnold IV could help him reconsider his opinion of “cute” pretty quickly too.</p><p>I huff and fall back onto the leather sofa, pulling Draco down with me, Arnold bouncing onto his chest. We share another look, and he meets my exasperation with amusement.</p><p>“So,” he smirks, “you’ve really got it bad for that girl, don’t you?”</p><p>***<br/>
Ginny’s breathing slowed gradually as she strode away through the woods. <i>Draco bloody Malfoy!</i> Ginny fumed, wondering how on earth Pansy could possibly think that it was okay to bring him into their shared space. However, there was a little traitorous voice in her mind that reminded her that just the day previous she had walked in on Ginny and Alicia  getting it on. </p><p>Ginny tried not to be a hypocrite and honestly, she’d never had quite the same antagonistic relationship that the Golden Trio had with Malfoy. He was pretty checked out during her 6th year and even more reserved when he’d returned for 8th year, Ginny’s 7th. That year all the Slytherins had kept to themselves mostly. Hermione had been so honorable as to feel bad for them and even Harry had jumped to Draco’s defense during the trials. Maybe her indignation had been somewhat misplaced.</p><p>As her breath returned to its normal pace, she began to feel like a twat for over-reacting. Ginny hadn’t even intended on staying in the tent. She’d made plans to meet up with Neville, who was working as an Auror to monitor the World Cup. But, seeing Malfoy without any warning had jarred her. Besides, he had just looked so entitled. And hexable.</p><p> She pushed him from her mind and instead focused on her original plan to meet Neville by the water pumps. Ginny spotted him, and he waved cheerfully as she walked towards him. After a big hug they chatted and walked around in the woods, enjoying the sound of cueca music coming from the Chilean tents and laughing at the ridiculous amounts of patriotic flags adorning the English tents. </p><p>Ginny savored the familiar company, and when it was time for Neville to go she offered to let him go through their <i>Prophet</i> floo so he could skip the long lines. They complained mildly about the Ministry not giving Aurors a special transportation option as they made their way to the <i>Prophet</i> tent. It wasn’t until they were inside that Ginny remembered how she had ordered Draco to get out. Sitting on her couch however, was Draco Malfoy, in blatant disregard for her commands. Ginny’s face flushed with anger and she narrowed her eyes.</p><p>“Pansy,” Ginny raised her wand, “I believe I told you that your boyfriend isn’t allowed here.”</p><p>“Ginny,” Pansy countered, smirking, “I believe I told you, I don’t take orders.”</p><p>Right as Ginny was about to cast another Bat Bogey hex, Neville placed a gentle hand on her arm. She turned to him with questions all over her face.</p><p>“Ginny,” he said very quietly, as if hoping the Slytherins wouldn’t hear them. “Is it really worth it? I know they’re prats --”</p><p>“Understatement much?” Ginny said, voice at full volume.</p><p>“I know they’re great prats,” Neville repeated, holding on to his quiet voice.  “But Parkinson is your partner, right? And if Harry managed to forgive Malfoy then doesn’t it follow that you should forgive your new colleague? It’s been a really long time.”</p><p>“Potter’s forgiven me? Again?” Draco asked loudly from the couch. Ginny grit her teeth and ignored him.</p><p>“Seriously Neville?” Ginny lowered her wand reluctantly. “You’re gonna make me be a freaking grown up? You’d be irate if you were me!”</p><p>“I promise it’s for your own good,” Neville gave a half smile and pulled her into another hug. “Let’s talk soon. Luna and I will come by. I should go, Hannah said something about spaghetti this morning.”</p><p>He gave Ginny a stern look, and Ginny felt herself deflate a little bit. Then, as if they had conspired to calm her down, Arnold IV bounced up from the couch towards her with clear intentions of snuggling. She caught him like a snitch and his soft fur started to put things in perspective. Besides, she mused, Pansy and herself had now seen each other vulnerable (and scantily clad). Maybe Neville was right. Maybe it was time to give in a little. She loosened her grip on the innocent Pygmy Puff, feeling him relax like putty in her hand.</p><p>“See ya later Ginny,” Neville said,  grabbing a fistful of floo powder. He turned to the Slytherins and nodded, “Bye Parkinson, Malfoy.”</p><p>As he disappeared in a swirl of green flame, Ginny took Arnold IV to her room without a second glance at the stunned Slytherins.</p><p>***</p><p>Draco leaves the tent after much commiserating  and as he’s closing the door a familiar owl flies in. A letter from my parents. I begin to read but it’s difficult to get Ginny out of my mind. Neville too. I haven’t seen him since school, and while he had become confident and able leading the Gryffindork Army, he hadn’t reached this level of suave and maturity. Merlin, I wish I was able to grow up like he has. But no, unfortunately, not all of us have doting Hufflepuff Hannah Abbots as devoted girlfriends ready to coach us into adulthood. In fact, as I read this letter in my mother’s practiced cursive, I feel like nothing more than an idiot child.</p><p>There’s  a lot of <i>“the tulips are growing up beautifully”</i> and <i>“Mrs Nott was looking well at the banquet”</i> and <i>“blah blah blah, I’m a high society witch and everybody wishes they were me.”</i> It isn’t until the last couple paragraphs that she really grabs my attention.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Yesterday I had a very charming conversation with Narcissa Malfoy and the topic of you and her son naturally arose. We’ve both talked to our husbands, and both your father and Lucius agree that it is a fitting time for your engagement to move forward. The courting period has been absurdly prolonged. Although we have been very gracious in allowing  you to establish a career before marriage, as seems to be the modern fashion, you and Draco are both well situated now to marry. </i>
</p><p>
  <i> Narcissa and I have already started planning for a beautifully sophisticated fall wedding. I am pleased on your behalf and looking forward to the possibility of a new heir to continue the Parkinson legacy. Perhaps you and Draco would embark on that voyage this winter. Either way, look forward to Draco taking the next step and telling you himself about our plans. I would advise dressing for the part of an excited bride to be every time you see him from now on. Keep your nails well manicured.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Sincerely,<br/>
Goneril Parkinson</i>
</p><p> </p><p>I feel sick. Draco and I have been stalling for so long, and although we both knew it was coming this news hits me like a curse to the gut. That’s it. No calming draughts, moonstone, cannabis, or alcohol is going to sooth this one. </p><p>Suddenly, my room feels too small. I jump out of bed and storm out of the tent, conjuring a pack of cigarettes as I go. Fuck it. I lean against a tall tree and light one with my wand, dragging deep. My shoulders relax and I admire the way the smoke spirals up. God, it’s been ages. Then Ginny meanders out of the tent and sees me. </p><p>At first I’m sure she’s going to yell at me, a reasonable presumption considering that she yells at me at least 50% of the time we’re together. I want her to yell at me. It’s idiotic that Draco and I can’t want eachother like that. It’s embarrassing that I can’t be out to my parents at the ripe age of 28. </p><p>What sickens me even more is that the plan to marry Draco makes me feel safe. I’ve always wanted to hold onto the stability of marrying within the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Even now, after all I’ve learned, even though I know intellectually that it’s messed up, I still want that safety. Ginny should yell at me. I deserve it. </p><p>“I didn’t know you smoked,” she says instead, voice gentle. Unpredictable, this one. I swear I’m going to get whiplash. I don’t know how to respond so I don’t.</p><p>“You know it’s really bad for you.”</p><p>“Really?” my sarcasm is subtle but for once she catches it, and for half a second I almost see her smile. </p><p>“Yeah,” she nods seriously, “and I’ve heard it’s hard to quit.”</p><p>“Nah, it’s easy to quit,” I reply, taking another drag. “Trust me, I’ve done it loads of times.”</p><p>This does earn a half laugh and eyeroll. </p><p>“Well, just don’t do it in the tent,” she says, the hint of a warning in her voice. </p><p>“No shit.”</p><p>Ginny looks at me like she wants to ask what's wrong. I’m probably looking at her like I want to tell her, want to confess and beg for clemency.</p><p>“And uh,” she breaks eye contact. “I guess Neville was right in there earlier. I shouldn’t have reacted so rashly.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure that rash and straightforward is the only way you know how to do anything,” I say, and surprise myself to find that it’s not necessarily an insult.</p><p>“Yeah, well,” she’s looking at her worn out red converse. Honestly, you’d think as she’s a quidditch star she’d buy some real shoes. “Well, I should have… you know… I could have been more mature.”</p><p>My eyes must be saucepans: “Well, well, well Ginny Weasley. Is this an apology?”</p><p>“Don’t push it, Parkinson,” she says, flames returning to her eyes. I smirk but don’t push it. She doesn’t really have anything to apologize for, anyways. Not anything that even compares to the damage I did to her and her lot that dark year. I continue to puff on my cigarette, and she continues to stand there awkwardly before turning to go wherever she had been planning on going. God, the way she walks just drips with estrogen and I love it.</p><p>“Hey,” I call after her. “I thought you were calling me Pansy now?”</p><p>“Sure,” she scoffs, not turning around. “I’ll see you later. Some of us actually do our jobs you know.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've decided to name chapters! It's very fun.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. "come out come out wherever you are"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello readers. Well. It's been quite the week, hasn't it? It was really difficult to focus on fan fiction this week, which is why I'm posting just before midnight. I hope this can help you take a brief break from dismantling systems of oppression and to heal your heart with a bit of Pleasure Activism (<i>The Politics of Feeling Good</i> by adrienne maree brown -read it!). </p><p>This chapter portrays some smoking (weed and tobacco), bit of smut, touch of violence, and a lot of mixed feelings. </p><p>Liebes took a break and my loving partner Richie took over as beta. Thank you so much babe!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been a few days since Ginny and I called for a ceasefire and interviews are going great. Editor in Chief, Shera Patil approves of my research on Chilean political history and thinks I’m on the trail of a good story.</p><p>Yesterday I sent research back to Patil about the Chilean Minister of Magic and her history of collaborating with the Coalition of Indigineous Wizards. Inspired by her commitment to dismantling the oppressive status quo, I wrote in depth about Britain’s responsibility to listen to and co-conspire with marginalized communities. However, Patil pointed out to me that most English Wizards have no idea who the Chilean Minister of Magic is, so with a deep sigh I backtracked to write an introductory article about her.</p><p>Just this past year, not only did muggle Chile elect their first woman president, but the Wizarding World also elected their first woman Minister of Magic: Marta Huerta. She has been working diligently to reduce inflation and stabilize the economy by fostering positive relations with Chilean Goblins. Huerta recognizes that Goblins have been managing the country’s gold while enduring centuries of unjust treatment; she’s dedicated to systemic reform. Huerta has been pushing so radically for equity and freedom of her Mapuche witches and wizards that she’s earned two asassination attempts in the past year. No lie, I may or may not have the super secret hots for that woman.</p><p> I’ve also witnessed the Ministers of Magic interact; Shacklebolt acted quite the fool. That conversation between the Ministers will make such a great story-more tabloid than my usual, but still well within the bounds of international affairs. After all, who doesn’t like to read that Kingsley Shaklebolt accidently informed the foreign Minister that he was sexually aroused. The idiot meant to say “Tengo mucho calor, Marta” (I’m warm) but instead said, “Estoy mucho caliente”  which’s direct translation is “I’m hot, Marta” aka “I’m randy and in good need of a shag, Marta.” On a less embarrassing note, Dibrut (the Chilean Goblin I recently interviewed), approved of how I quoted her and Patil loved the final product.</p><p>So after plenty of hard work I am lounging in the window seat with my sketchbook on my lap, watching the thunderstorm pound raindrops against the glass.  Ginny falls through the tent door laughing hysterically. Arnold IV rolls over to welcome her back. It’s just past sunset. She’s soaking wet from the rain that is pounding against the tent ceiling and dripping down the windows in streams. She throws her wet robes unceremoniously on the floor and casts incendio into the fireplace which she then stands against. </p><p>“What’s got you laughing so hard?” I ask without getting up. </p><p>“The...rain… is--” she shrieks and doubles over, gasping for breath and unable to speak. Uncontrollable and inexplicable laughter has rendered her breathless.</p><p>“The rain is what?” I ask apprehensively. Ginny Weasley is being very strange. Stranger than usual. I must get to the bottom of this -even if I am distracted by the way her soaked underclothes cling to her body. She takes a deep breath that presumably is meant to assuage her hysteria. It works for almost a second.</p><p>“It’s charmed... to make you lau--” she’s overtaken again. This woman can barely breathe, and I’m concerned. Whether about my maniac roommate or my own safety, I am unsure. That perfect nose is scrunching up and it’s so cute I could curse it. Somehow, she manages to continue, “It lifts once you dry off, but…”</p><p>“Didn’t occur to you to use impurvius?” I ask when she dissolves into breathless giggles once again. </p><p>“Well of course, Miss Pansy Know-It-All-Parkinsons, it didn’t work.” I wonder if she’s asphyxiating. “I’m not so much of a ding… of a ding bat! Ding Bat!Who says dingbat! Ding ding ding!”</p><p>That’s it. Sighing deeply I swish my wand and say ‘siccum’ which dries her off, thereby letting her catch her breath. While she’s no longer laughing a grin lingers on her face. I smile back, teeth and everything. </p><p>“So, what’s going on with the rain and the hysteria now?”</p><p>“Well, Pansy, that’s the thing,” Ginny begins, crossing the room to get herself a glass of water. “I was in the middle of an interview with Felipe Rojas, the Chilean Keeper, when it just started storming.”</p><p>As if to illustrate her point and add flare to her story the sky flashed with lightning and thunder shook the tent.</p><p>“Just minutes before the storm the sun had been shining brilliantly and so, naturally, we were chatting out on the pitch.” Ginny’s grin doesn’t falter and she gulps water, leaning against the counter. I watch, transfixed as a drop slides down her chin and neck. For a moment I ponder what she looks like in the shower before I snap out of it to listen to the rest of her story. Yes, dangerous hysteria-inducing rainstorm. Quite troubling. </p><p>“Then we both started laughing and Felipe just ran off, and so I ran back here --barely able to catch my breath mind you. I was going to keep working and maybe meet up with Neville, but looks like now we’re pretty much stuck in the tent until the storm passes.”</p><p>Huh. Well that’s odd.</p><p>“Any clue what started the rain?”</p><p>“Eh, probably some teenagers lame idea of a prank.” </p><p>Huh. Well. I nod and look back down at my sketchbook. Ginny doesn’t seem to be having it though.</p><p>“I’m in the mood for some laughing though, so it works out.” It’s different to see a laughing, easy Ginny, instead of the usual yelling, jinxing Ginny. She asks me what my plan for the evening is and I’m unable to tell her anything that she deems exciting. She asks how my day has been so far and my eyes narrow. I smell something fishy…</p><p>“You’re awfully friendly today.”  </p><p>“Yes, well.” Ginny laughs of her own volition this time and comes over to sit opposite of me in the window seat, her face flashing white with the lightning. While the thunder is dramatic the next thing she says is laissez faire.  “I’m working on being a better person. I think tolerating you is really going to help me on my personal journey of growth.”</p><p>“Well,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’m glad to be of use to you.”</p><p>“You’re welcome!” She leans back. Arnold IV bounces up to roll around on her lap. She strokes between his tiny ears, smiling.  “So, Pansy, I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve needed a good laugh. While I appreciate the ability to breathe, I’d appreciate a little entertainment. And I’m stuck in this tent with only you and Arnold for company.”</p><p>“I’m not a dancing monkey, Weasley.” I scoff at her, but my mind is warming to the idea of a night in with Ginny. “But I’ll humour you. Wanna get some giggles in? How about some good old, time tested, muggle approved magic?”</p><p>“Remember, I don’t trust you. Should I be nervous?”</p><p>“No no, I’m just talking about weed.” I summon my little bag of bud and mutter volvunt canibis, which rolls a perfect little joint. “A hit among wizards and muggles alike. Medicinal and pleasant.  And I’ve mixed in some powdered moonstone and dried peppermint to clear up the occasional brain fog. Then a sprig of mugwort to cancel the undesirably harmful effects on lungs and throats. It also eases cotton mouth.”</p><p>“Oh.” Ginny relaxes. “That’s okay then. Yeah, sure. But… should we smoke in the tent?”</p><p>“I already have,” I tell her, smirking. I guess she trusts me at least a little then. “I’m not a big rule follower anyways.”</p><p>“No.” Ginny shook her head. “Me either.”</p><p>I already know that about her. So I light my joint, take a pull, and pass it across to her. Right when our fingertips touch there is a flash of lightning and I feel the energy vibrate through all my cells. The ginger girl inhales and exhales slowly, letting the milky smoke rise slowly around her face. We sit in silence for a second, smoke drifting around us and rain pounding down against the window panes. While the air is electric it’s also strangely calm.</p><p>“I love thunderstorms,” she says.</p><p>“Me too,” I respond. “Look, that’s two things we’ve got in common.”</p><p>Ginny chuckles a little at that. Merlin, I’m doomed, and it’s only day five.</p><p>“Let’s play a game!” she says, the idea lighting up her face like an internal <i>lumos.</i> </p><p>“What kind of game?” </p><p>“Exploding snap?”</p><p>“Childish."</p><p>“Wizards chess?” she tries again.</p><p>“I can’t play without my own pieces and they’re too far away to summon.”</p><p>“Arm wrestle?”</p><p>“That would be over in two seconds and you know it.”</p><p>She nods that yes, she would be able to over power me in an arm wrestle easily. Can’t help it, that thought kind of turns me on. She throws out another suggestion:</p><p>“Poker Potions?”</p><p>“You’d lose what little money you’ve got.”</p><p>“Forget that I’m a quidditch star? Can’t be classist against me anymore, pug-face.”</p><p>Did ‘pug-face’ almost sound endearing? Dear Hecate, she's really softening up to me. Or she’s just stoned. I’m enjoying knocking down her suggestions and so I stay quiet. Three. Two. One. </p><p>“Settlers of Avalon?”</p><p>“I am far too competitive for that one,” I say, shaking my head and taking a drag off our doobie. “We seem like we might not hex each other tonight and I’m really starting to fancy some civility.”</p><p>“Fine!” Ginny grabs the joint from me and breathes out smoke as she says, “You suggest a game.”</p><p>“Truth or Dare.”</p><p>“And you said Exploding Snap is childish!” She has a point and so I concede.</p><p>“Fine, two truths and a lie.”</p><p>She looks confused so I thoroughly enjoy explaining it to her.</p><p>“It’s pretty self explanatory. Tell me two true things, and one untrue thing, and I have to guess which one is a lie.” As I explain this I understand my motives. For some unfathomable reason (that I swear has nothing to do with how much I love the sound of her sex-life or how pretty her freckles are in the low light) I really want to get to know her. </p><p>“Okay,” she starts, looking up at the stormy sky to think. “I’ve played professional quidditch, my favorite dessert is treacle tart, and I broke my arm when I was 10.”</p><p>“Ughhh Weasley,” I groan in exaggerated exasperation. “Boring! That’s not how you play!”</p><p>“But you said--” She’s momentarily irate so I interrupt her to avoid a Weasley-related-explosion.</p><p>“Okay, the lie is the treacle tart,” I guess. “Right?”</p><p>“Well, it was a trick you see.” Her lips lift in a coy smile. “I really like treacle tart, but strawberry shortcake is my favorite.”</p><p>“Very clever,” I say dryly. “With ice cream?”</p><p>“You know it.”</p><p> “Okay, now I’m going to show you how you really play,” I say, flicking back my hair. “One: the first time I had sex was in Proffesor McGonagal’s office. Two: my grandmother is the one who really raised me, not my parents. When she died, I was fourteen. I cried and my mother kept telling me to stop and that it was unbecoming to lose control like that. Three: I secretly harbored a huge crush on Snape when we were at Hogwarts.”</p><p>“Oh.” Ginny’s eyes are wide. “I see. I really was playing it wrong.”</p><p>I shrug and wait for her to guess, the pleasant floaty feeling caused by the weed helping me feel less anxious about being vulnerable. Sometimes in the loyal quiet of the Slytherin common room we would bring out this game almost as a support group for the least popular house. During my 7th year Draco and I would play just the two of us, alone under the lake, even though we thought we knew everything about each other. Sometimes only forced vulnerability can break through years of pureblood conditioning.</p><p>“I suppose my guess is number two?” she decides after much deliberation. “It’s too honest and too involved for you to actually be telling me.”</p><p>“Fooled you!” I gloat. “That was my goal. Being honest is sometimes the best way to confuse somebody.”</p><p>“Alright, Miss Sly and Cunning” Ginny looks almost shaken. Something kinder than pity shadows her face. “So which one is the lie?”</p><p>“Three, obviously,” I exclaim. “Honestly! I mean, he was a good teacher” she makes a contentious huff “but his hair was so greasy and his nose was so hooked. He was old and everything aside: a man. Not my thing.”</p><p>Several beats of silence before a bang of thunder makes us both jump. Arnold rolls over and begs Ginny to rub his tiny pink belly --the opportunist.</p><p>“You like witches?” Ginny demanded, her voice suddenly loud. </p><p>“I didn’t expect you to be so shocked.” And here comes those goofies that I knew my cannabis might  encourage. She joins me in giggles as I say,  “All things considered. What with you being super gay too. Hell, I would’ve guessed that you could tell, even if I’m not parading around in rainbows.”</p><p>“Well, now I feel like an idiot!” Ginny leans forward to smack me on the calf. “And you let me think you were being all homophobic! And I’m not so much gay as I am bi, or pan, or whatever.”</p><p>“Well, strictly speaking,” I say, feigning gravitas, “I don’t only like witches. I’ve appreciated muggle women as well.”</p><p>“You, Pansy Parkinson!” Ginny is laughing and laughing. She kicks me in the leg but it doesn’t hurt. My heart feels warm. My whole body is glowing. “You’re scandalous! Wait, hey, what about Malfoy?”</p><p>“Oh, he’s as bent as an 18 Sickles Galleon, and pathetically hopeless for your Hogwarts sweetheart.”</p><p>“Which one?” Ginny dons an innocent face but takes another drag of our shortening joint. Arnold IV hops down Ginny’s leg and on to mine. It tickles and I barely don’t giggle.</p><p>“The one with the unseamly scar on his forehead and an Order of Merlin First Class.”</p><p>“No shit!” Ginny is losing it and my cheeks hurt from smiling. “This is too good. Poor, pathetic Malfoy has been pining unrequited love for how long?”</p><p>“Unrequited? Not quite!” And the gossip pours out as I tell her about how they’d been hooking up before Harry left to go work with dragons. How they’d been developing something like a real relationship before Scar-Head freaked out and left the country. I tell her a lot about Draco, knowing that maybe if she understood him she might not hate him as much. Though he would totally hate me for everything I was telling her. </p><p>“He never really had a good choice as a teenager,” I say, trying to convince her. “ And his prefrontal cortex wasn’t fully developed, even if his head was fully up his ass. It’s not easy to grow up in a family like the Malfoys. He didn’t have any good role models.”</p><p>She seems like she’s trying to understand but is struggling to reimagine somebody she hates through just one stoned conversation. I appreciate that she’s trying.  If she could try to understand me too, then maybe she could grow to like me. Watching the way her brows knit together in consideration I realise how badly I want that. Oh Merlin I’m in it deep, aren’t I? </p><p>The sky is still falling and I roll another joint. We’re reclined against the spot where the tent-wall meets the window and we both lean back, our legs up so that we can face one another. Our legs would’ve competed for room on the seat were we not so comfortable and stoned. Now they are pressed together, driving me crazy and sleepy at the same time. Her mind visibly wanders from the topic of Draco and Potter and I can tell she wants to ask something, but she hesitates.</p><p>“Come on, spit it out,” I say, leaning my head against the window. I practice my french inhale while she flusters.</p><p>“You had sex in McGonagal’s office?” She had to swallow before saying it and even in the dim light I can tell she’s blushing. What a fucking cute blush. And I don’t usually go for cute, what is she doing to me? So I tell her the story slowly and with just enough detail to potentially engage her interest while not letting on that that is exactly what I am trying to do. </p><p>“Daphne Greengrass, you know the one, my year, blonde?” and “McGonagall wasn’t there of course… ” and “Up on the desk…”</p><p>When I’m done with my story she avoids looking straight at my face and her face rivals the redness of a tomato. I’m nervous I’ve gone too far, but then, for the split second she looks up at me through her lashes, her dilated eyes flash with something hot and sweet and it’s my turn to look away.</p><p>“Okay Ginny,” I say, my voice soft. “It’s your turn. Two truths and a lie.”</p><p>“Okay, let me think.” So she does, and we sit in silence for a minute listening to the rain against the window. Her foot, in mismatched striped socks, slowly moves along my thigh but I know I must be imagining that she is intending anything but a stretch. It’s just too fast for her to actually be returning feelings, we haven’t even been reintroduced for a week and I don’t even know<i> my </i>official stance on the whole Ginny/Pansy idea.</p><p>“Okay. One: I didn’t think I was going to live through the war, sometimes I feel like I didn’t really. I sometimes feel like a huge part of me died. Like I haven’t been whole for nearly a decade. Two: The only people who know I’m queer are Luna Lovegood and the couple of women I’ve been with. Three: the Holly Head Harpies had more than one orgy when I was with them, but less than three threesomes.”</p><p>“Why haven’t you told your family that you swing both ways?” I ask, foregoing the guessing because it’s too easy.</p><p>“I just haven’t… it hasn’t come up and while I know my parents wouldn’t care at all, my brothers can be kind of weird about me having any sexuality at all, let alone a fluid one. And until tonight I thought Harry might be upset or confused… I thought none of them needed any more change. Besides, as a Harpy I was pretty well known and I prefer to keep my private life private. Being Harry’s only confirmed love interest adds to that and I just didn’t feel like dealing with the public drama.”</p><p>“Sounds like Harry deserves a Howler in my opinion,” I reply. I understand the privacy thing, I really do. As if reading my mind she asks me:</p><p>“Are you out to your folks?”</p><p>“Not at all, not ever, no thanks.” I shudder at the thought. When Ginny tilts her head in question I answer, “They’re really conservative, obviously. I’m 95% sure they’d disown me and… I want to make them proud. I care about the family name, especially now that it means so much less than it used to.”</p><p>“But--” Ginny starts to interrupt me but I don’t let her. I want her to understand. I want to understand better myself, so I let myself talk it out. </p><p>“All I’ve tried to do my whole life is protect my family and help us to achieve greatness together,” I say, allowing for dramatic flair. “ The new Ministry and Muggleborns already hate them, I couldn’t stand it if I made them outcasts to the pureblood community as well.” </p><p>I think her foot is definitely caressing my leg now, and the context of this conversation creates a dissonance. I freeze and I think she must notice because her foot stops.</p><p>“That must be difficult,” she whispers. “It makes me sort of feel like I should let everyone know about me though, like, just because I can. It’s 2007, for Merlin’s sake.”</p><p>I nod and I want to comfort her, because I think my confession has made her feel sorry for me, and that just won’t do.</p><p>“I’m sure people said that in the ‘70s too. I imagine, in ten years they’ll be saying <i>‘it’s 2017, for Merlins sake,’</i> too, but that won’t mean that prejudice will have disapperated. And you don’t owe it to anybody to come out.”</p><p>I’m not sure whether or not I believe myself… she might owe it to herself. But who am I to say? Ginny doesn’t say anything right away so I aim for a more light hearted topic. Female quidditch players and their mythical orgies are just the thing, so I ask her about the Harpies. From there our conversation rolls smoothly. </p><p>The night goes late but neither of us are looking at our watches as the topics drift from goofy escapades to heavy and hesitant mentionings of old trauma. All the time the laughing storm outside blows and we start drifting off and realize our bodies are sore from the position we’ve been sitting in all night. We stand up off the window seat as if we’ve jinxed each other with jelly legs. </p><p>There’s a moment before we go to our respective rooms where we wonder if we should hug. So we linger in front of our bedroom doors and look at eachother. Even after all that, I feel shy. This has been such a bizarre night and outside I see the storm is clearing and the sky is about to lighten into dawn.</p><p>“Goodnight, Ginny.”</p><p>“‘Night Pansy. Sweet dreams.”</p><p>***</p><p>Arnold IV was purring loudly on top of her face, pulling Ginny to wakefulness. She gently rolled him away so that she could squint her eyes against the sunlight. Head pounding, Ginny stretched her arms and legs before she got up. Usually, Ginny was quite bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning but considering it was 7:30am and she’d gone to bed around 4:30am,  she wasn’t feeling that chipper. She sat up, and groggily started her pushups, allowing Arnold to bounce on her back as she did so. After 5, she decided that today 10 pushups felt like a more appropriate goal than her usual 40. </p><p>Then the sit ups, squats, and lunges. Try as she did to focus on engaging her core, she more often than not focused on memories of Pansy Parkinson smiling at her, nudging their legs together on the window seat. She lost count of her reps and although she blamed Pansy she didn’t really have it in her to be too bothered. Besides, she had a headache and was willing to bet that Pansy kept a potion for that on hand. </p><p>When she went into the living room Pansy wasn’t there, but Ginny could hear some sort of cheerful classical music coming from squeaky speakers through Pansy’s door. She then heard a loud bang and the music stopped. She went about making a cup of tea for herself and poured herself a big bowl of wheaties, deciding to ask Pansy for the potion when she came out of her room. But then Ginny finished her cereal and isn’t known for being the most patient witch. <i>Pansy probably wouldn’t mind if I just went in and checked,</i> Ginny thought to herself. I’ve seen her in her tiny teddy before and we’re practically friends after last night so…</p><p>Ginny opened the door and saw to her dismay that Pansy was still in bed, sprawled across grey sheets, dark hair a mess and tangled in one of her hands. The bouncing clock was going off again unable to rouse her. Her small white foot pointed off the bed as if she had started to get up and had then given up. Wrapped around her ankle was a little ink snake, also asleep. Ginny noticed another tattoo on the inside of her left bicep; a quote of some sort. </p><p>“Pansy?” Ginny said softly, approaching the sleeping woman and tapping the clock with her wand for <i>snooze</i>. “I think you have a meeting with the Chilean Press really soon? Shouldn’t you be…”</p><p>Pansy heeded her none and rolled over to bury her face in her pillow saying something that sounded a lot like “mgrumphmm.” </p><p>Okay, Ginny tilted her head and tried again, gently shaking Pansy’s shoulder. </p><p>“Do you have any headache potion? The lack of sleep must be getting to me,” Ginny said. She looked around Pansy’s room and wasn’t surprised by the elegance of Pansy’s decor, but hadn’t predicted how messy it would be. Pansy always seemed so tidy and put together.</p><p>Now that she was closer she could see that the tattoo quote said “i eligere hoc” and she spared a second to wish she knew Latin. To wish she could see the one that hid by the low neckline of Pansy’s nightgown, almost visible. To wish she knew all the tattoos that covered Pansy’s body. </p><p>Then Ginny shook her head and gave the sleeping witch’s shoulders another shake. </p><p>“Pansy,” Ginny said louder, “You have to wake up.”</p><p>Pansy, it seemed, was pretty adamant about staying in bed so Ginny sighed, knowing what must be done. She violently grabbed Pansy’s pillow from under her and hit her over the head with it. As if in response, the little clock started singing again, louder than ever. Pansy sat up straight and groaned with the fury of a Hungarian Horntail. Ginny chuckled, causing Pansy to lift her wand and Ginny found herself flying back out the door to the living room. She brushed herself off, surprisingly unbothered. It looked like Pansy was set on the path toward morning success and Ginny applauded herself for being a helpful and gracious roommate. Although, she thought rubbing her temples, a headache drought would be godsend right now. </p><p>As if in direct response to that sentiment Pansy strode out of her room with a large cup of coffee in one hand and a promising potion in the other. She was scowling, still in her tiny nightie and Ginny’s eyes wandered up and down her thick thighs before settling on her full cleavage. Pansy was too disgruntled to notice and Ginny quickly averted her eyes and accepted the potion.</p><p>“Thanks,” Ginny started. “You’re the be--”</p><p>“You can tell me how much you love me later, Weasley.” Pansy turned back to her bedroom. “I need to get dressed, you know, some of us actually care how we present to others.”</p><p>“Just because I’ve stopped hexing you,” Ginny grumbled as Pansy went back to her room, “doesn’t mean I’ve stopped hating you.”</p><p>Ginny’s voice held hardly any real malice. She mused that this felt dangerously close to friendship and she shook her head vigorously, confused by the cognitive dissonance of befriending a problematic git. This movement did not assuage the aching in her skull though, and with much gratitude she shot back her potion. The headache eased away and she went back to get dressed. </p><p>They both emerged from their rooms without time for Pansy to eat breakfast, but enough time to walk at a comfortable pace to the press tent which was set up next to the Quidditch Pitch. While they walked side by side, they didn’t talk much, but the silence wasn’t tense. At the same time, it was also incredibly uncomfortable, because Ginny couldn’t stop thinking about how physically close they were. If Pansy swung her arms as she walked the way that Ginny did, their hands might have brushed against each other. </p><p>In this silence, Ginny pondered further her budding alliance with the enigmatic witch. Pansy was perfectly groomed and yet her room was a mess. She was clearly crazy and possibly dangerous, but also polite and controlled when it best suited her to be so. She was so hardcore, all leather jacket and tattoos, but Ginny was beginning to see that maybe, under all of that, she was very soft. Her skin looked soft at least.</p><p>“I’ll be having a conversation with the heads of Magical Commerce from Beijing, Santiago, and Paris today,” Pansy told her as they neared the media tent. “But I’m imagining we’re both going to need a nap at some point… Thank Circe I have a break this afternoon.”</p><p>Ginny attempted to block out the mental image of napping  together, limbs tangled with Pansy’s. To aid that effort she said, “That’s a lot of translation spells for one morning. Three languages? Be careful, sometimes that can leave you speaking gibberish.”</p><p>“I don’t use translation spells,” Pansy replied. </p><p>“But…” Ginny paused, wracking her mind. “I didn’t see any French or Manderin interpreters around anywhere.”</p><p>“That’d be because there aren’t any,” Pansy said, shrugging delicate shoulders. “I just happen to speak French and Manderin.”</p><p>“Really?” Ginny couldn’t help but be impressed. “Fluently?”</p><p>“Yes.” Pansy had a small albeit cocky smile teasing her plum colored lips, “Along with Spanish. and Gobbledigook.”</p><p>“You’re fluent in five languages?” Ginny couldn’t decide whether or not she believed it, “but we’re British.”</p><p>Was Pansy secretly from Luxembourg or Singapore? Did Snape privately tutor foreign languages with Slytherins only? Or she was boasting falsehoods. Typical.</p><p>“Well...” Pansy tilted her head thoughtfully but never broke her stride to the press tent. “I also know Latin, Ancient Greek and Samaritan of course, but I don’t get much opportunity to speak those ones conversationally. ”</p><p>“Damn girl!” Ginny couldn’t help but be impressed, and she reckoned that Pansy was aiming to impress. Ginny decided that Pansy wasn’t lying. “That’s bad-ass.”</p><p>“I know, right?” Pansy said with a cocky quirk of her eyebrows. “They really should’ve included language classes at Hogwarts. I’ve just got rich and ambitious parents with a hobby of giving me competitive skill sets in early childhood.”</p><p>Ginny privately mused that even with years of diligent practice and private tutoring she couldn’t have learned more than a couple languages. Smart and stupidly pretty? The universe was just taunting her now. They had arrived at the media tent right when a familiar witch with elaborately curled blonde hair and jeweled spectacles appeared out of the tent door. </p><p>“Merlin,” Ginny groaned upon seeing the witch. “Rita Skeeter, how absolutely unpleasant to see you. Who are you writing for now? I know Patil has outgrown your gossipy droll.”</p><p>“Well now,” Skeeter said, her voice dripping with poison honey. “Little Miss Ginny Weasley, it’s been so long.”</p><p>“Not long enough,” Ginny spat. “Good bye.”</p><p>“Oh don’t be like that!” her talon-like fingers clutched to her chest. “I was merely going to ask how you’ve been holding up. I know your shoulder injury last year must be difficult to adjust to… Or do you think perhaps the multiple concussions have been affecting your--”</p><p>“Well, Pansy,” said Ginny, turning back to the bored looking Pansy Parkinson, pointedly interrupting Skeeter. “I’m sure I’ll see you around lunch.”</p><p>Pansy nodded and leaned forward to kiss the air by Ginny’s right cheek in a classy, Chilean kind of way. </p><p>“Ciao,” she said, briefly touching cheeks. She turned and walked into the tent leaving Ginny alone with the enchantingly nasty journalist. The older woman had a calculating look hidden beneath her fake smile. Ginny’s ears were turning red and she silently cursed her complexion as she glared at Skeeter who had started talking again.</p><p>“I’m mostly with <i>Witch Weekly</i>, nowadays, but you know me,” she said with a  fake and twinkly laugh, “perhaps I’ll write another book and self publish.”</p><p>“What a load of rubbish it would be, I’m sure,” Ginny said, starting to turn away from Skeeter. She wasn’t sure where she’d been planning on going considering her first meeting didn’t begin until 10. It only just now occurred to her that she had only left the tent early to walk with Pansy.</p><p>Suddenly, Alicia Spinnet was slinging an arm around her shoulders and ruffling her hair. As always when Alicia was around, Ginny couldn’t hold back a grin. Regardless of slimy writers like Skeeter. </p><p>“Ginny! I found you!” Alicia grinned back. “Oh hello Rita, how have you been lately?”</p><p>“I’ve been well--” Alicia didn’t wait for the full reply and pulled Ginny so they were both walking away, backs turned to the journalist. </p><p>Following Alicia’s lead the two of them walked around a corner of the tent and behind a wooden wall of the stadium’s foundational structure. They both looked around to check that nobody was within sight. Then, as if following a script, Ginny pushed Alicia against the wall and they began to snog like teenagers.</p><p>“Hey,” Alicia said, catching her breath and wrapping her arms around Ginny’s hips, “You don’t have a meeting for while?”</p><p>“I’ve got about an hour and a half before I strictly have to be anywhere.” Ginny nibbled Alicia’s ear. The sexual energy that had been building up in Ginny for the past 24 hours was finding a safe and pleasurable outlet. Alicia was exactly the right choice. “But that’s plenty of time.”</p><p>“Here?” Alicia whispered with a naughty secret in her voice. “Kind of public isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah, well, we’re pretty hidden back here, besides, ” Ginny breathed into her ear, “I know you don’t care about that.”</p><p>“Cool.” Alicia gave Ginny’s ass a nice squeeze. “First though, I actually found you to tell you” -small kiss- “that training is going to be really intense now leading up to the game. I’m not really allowed to do anything but eat, sleep, and chase quaffles. And I start in about 45 minutes.”</p><p>“Well we better be quick then.” Ginny ground her hips against Alicia’s and noticed that she wasn’t so bothered by the upcoming absence of her friend (with benefits). Shit though, Alicia smelled good right here behind the media tent between herself and the wall. The distant noise of  witches and wizards chattering just added to the thrill.</p><p>Ginny felt so worked up and confused by the lingering effects of last night with Pansy. Exposed as Ginny and Alicia were now, Ginny wanted to grasp onto their easy familiarity and hold on for her sanity’s sake. So she pressed her lips against Alicia’s, begging for an anchor. </p><p>Alicia responded to Ginny’s eagerness with a hand down her jeans. She circled Ginny’s clit with her fingers and Ginny cupped Alicia’s tits and pushed a knee between her legs. She ground down on that knee and pulled wetness up from Ginny’s center and rubbed it all around.  Suddenly Alicia’s fingers weren’t on Ginny’ cunt anymore but were up in Alicia’s mouth who’s expression was that of somebody eating their favorite dessert. </p><p>Ginny’s eyes dilated and she pushed past Alicia’s little jogger shorts to press her fingers into Alicia’s cunt. She knew from experience that Alicia sometimes loved to be surprise fucked and she was rewarded with the sight of Alica gritting her teeth around a stifled groan. Alicia’s hands tangled up in long ginger locks and Ginny grit her teeth and pushed her fingers in and out, practically lifting Alicia against the wall.</p><p>Fucking upright against walls isn’t always the easiest way to have sex and so things were sloppy. And fun. Time was of the essence and so they untangled themselves quickly, both of their bodies buzzing with pleasure. </p><p>“Merlin, Ginny,” Alicia groaned and cast a Scourgify on her shorts and hands. “You really know how to do a girl right.”</p><p>“I try my best,” Ginny said, copying Alicia with a Scourgify. While her body was satisfied, something inside her still felt unsatiated. Her friend smiled contentedly at her though, and that felt good.  “So, are we gonna hang out after the match?”</p><p>“Well,” Alicia grinned, “you’ll be partying with the team when England wins, obviously, but then I think I'll go back to Brixham and hang with my family for a bit.”</p><p>“Okay.” Ginny leaned in for a well received kiss before pulling back. “Well I’ll see you at our victory party. And of course at the game. Maybe you’ll spot me too, I’ll be in the top box.”</p><p>“I’ll keep an eye out for you, Gin,” Alicia said with a wink. “Thanks.”</p><p>Alicia loped away while Ginny stuck behind to avoid being seen coming out from a small secluded spot together. She glanced at her watch and determined that she still had enough time for a quick shower before her meeting. That scourgify was just not going to do the trick. So she jogged back to the tent, because cardio is also time efficient.</p><p>In her shower her mind wandered to Pansy bloody Parkinson and what it would have felt like to press <i>her </i> up against a wall. Ginny laughed at herself, her libido was as predictably olympian as ever. She wondered if she’d cool down with age or if she’d still be this randy in her eighties. </p><p>She ran water across her swollen pussy, cleaning and supplying slight pleasure for a fraction of a second. This shower had to be fast, she reminded herself and she rinsed her sweaty hair. God, all this and it wasn’t even 10 o’clock.</p><p>As if to put her insatiable libido in check, a memory of Pansy in Ginny’s 6th year at Hogwarts came abruptly into her mind, seemingly out of nowhere. The cruel slapping of shoes on stone floors and the pain of a curse to the back. An upturned pug nose and cold eyes. Mocking and malicious laughter. There, all warm and tingly feelings vanished and she felt about as lusty as a moth ball.</p><p>She scrubbed her arms a bit too hard with her soapy washcloth. Shouldn’t she be over that by now?  Intellectually she knew that it wasn’t fair to try somebody for crimes they’d committed as a child. But that doesn’t mean you should let your guard down, regardless of how many stoned games of two truths and a lie you play.</p><p>While she and Pansy were slowly developing a cordial relationship she wasn’t by any means over how nasty of a person Pansy had always been. Those toxic memories and this insane attraction went together like toothpaste and pumpkin juice. </p><p>Ginny brought her focus to her breath and let water run down her face. In under 10 minutes she was dry, dressed, and speed walking through the woods. She was completely focused and ready to work. </p><p>***</p><p>Patil owled me that she’d like me to supplement my previous tabloid-like material about Shacklebolt’s incompetent Spanish by publicizing the slowly building bond between the two Ministers. Similarly, this morning I had a follow up interview with Dibrut and she advised me to showcase how Shacklebolt, as England’s first black Minister of Magic, and Huerta, with her advocacy for Indigineous and Goblin rights, might strengthen each other's voices by standing together on an international platform.The National Affairs writers also contacted me to collaborate about Shacklebolt’s re-election. </p><p>Admittedly, my history with the Minister has been complicated with the post-war trials and my parent’s loudly voiced opposition to restitution for muggle-borns (a cornerstone of Shacklebolt’s platform). Despite their wishes I’ve decided that I <i>do</i> want to support him. The pesky opinions of my queer friends in NYC jangle loudly in my head: <i>’You have no option but to use your privilege to elevate the voices of the marginalized.’ </i> I’ll just have to place my usual reader-specific deterrent charm on parts of the article so that my parents are less likely to read it. Usually it works well enough, but it’s complicated magic and Daphne often helps me out with the casting. She hasn’t gotten back to me yet and the knot of anxiety in my stomach has been mixing poorly with coffee all morning.</p><p>I’m absolutely exhausted and I have that meeting with National Affairs, but it isn’t until 2:30 and it’s just before noon now. A nap is definitely on my agenda. Ginny and her stupid laughing storm kept me up even later than usual last night. I usually can’t nap, prefering to battle sleep deprivation with caffeine and potions. Something about today, though, just screams <i>‘lie down with your eyes closed,’</i> so I think I’ll give napping another shot.</p><p> Moving my body through the woods to <i>the Prophet</i> tent feels like pulling dead leaves through molasses. But I still don’t regret last night. Not for a second. The memories of the sleepy way her eyes drooped behind messy ginger hair and the relaxed sound of her laugh still fill my belly with warmth. Laughing at things I said. Me. </p><p>This memory puts a bounce in my step and I try to not let my giddiness influence the silkiness of my strut. Muggle fashion really knows its way around shoes and with magic I can make my mertle green pumps look completely practical in the forest. This afternoon I am woefully sleep deprived but I still manage to saunter with my chin up. This ability is equal parts due to my wakefulness potion and to the warm memory of her sleepy smile.</p><p>Making her laugh is so much more rewarding than making her hurt. The way I used to… the awful ways I used to harm Ginny. I tortured that woman, I tortured her when she was still a girl. The fact that we were both young doesn’t excuse it. I know that.</p><p>As I walk back to the ten I hardly notice the rowdy Quidditch fans around me. In my mind I am back at Hogwarts, the year before the Final Battle. As I walk through the campground I remember how my heart pounded with equal parts narcissism and repressed shame. I feel it now, bruising my ribcage so many years later. </p><p>
  <i>“Come out come out wherever you are,” I called in a mocking sing song way. I walked down the corridor slowly, loving the sound of my deliberate footsteps and feeling high on power. “There should be another one of you Dumbledore’s Army arssholes out here. An itsy Weasel maybe?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The badge on my chest showed that I was one of the elite Slytherin students that the Carrows valued most. I was determined to be useful to them and their approval meant the world to me. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>I knew that a red-haired Gryffindor was there in the corridor and I knew she was completely unarmed. Other Slytherins were spread in the hallways and staircases around us, and all I’d have to do was to shephard her until we had her cornered. She was totally screwed and I loved it… I’d be praised and admired and hopefully it’d take some pressure and limelight off Draco. Maybe it would redeem our whole house. Maybe little Astoria Greengrass would have her Debutante Ball in a world where wizards are free from mudbloods and blood traitors trying to steal their magic. This was what my family would be proud of me for. This was all I knew.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Then I heard Ginny’s nearly suppressed cough and I knew exactly where she was. I jumped behind a column and saw her pressed against the stone wall and holding a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. I grabbed her wrist and held my wand to her throat, pressing the point into her skin. We locked eyes for a charged second before she punched me hard up in the stomach. I hadn’t been expecting it and it knocked the breath out of me. </i>
</p><p><i>Ginny took the time to spit in my face and twist her wrist from my grasp. She brushed aside my wand and made a run for it. By the time I’d caught my breath and wiped the spit from my cheek she was at the end of the corridor, getting away. I raised my wand and shouted</i> “Sectumsempra!” <i></i></p><p>
  <i>A huge gash hit her right across her back, spanning both shoulder blades. She stumbled in pain but ran around the corner, soldiering on but dripping in blood. I sprinted down the corridor and around the corner to stare at another empty hallway, the one with the one eyed witch statue. Ginny was nowhere to be seen. Like members of the DA tended to do, she had disappeared. </i>
</p><p>I’m pulled back to the present when I trip over a root -maybe these heels aren’t so practical after all. I swear under my breath and I think a small Chilean child with a toy broom hears me as I pass by their flag adorned tent.</p><p>I walk on and remember exactly how I had felt in that corridor. I had groaned with rage and pulled my hair. In that moment I had hated myself for letting her get away. Now however, I hate myself for ever thinking that was okay to hunt her like that to begin with. </p><p>I shrink inside myself but remember to hold my chin high as I walk onward to the tent. Maybe it’s another cigarette day. So I indulge before entering the tent, leaning against my tree, letting the smoke layer in my lungs the way that guilt layers in my conscience.   </p><p>I pull back the canvas door and enter our living space. I see Ginny sprawled across the leather sofa, mouth open and eyes closed. Her feet are up on the arm of the couch and her arm is flopped off the side. I suppose I’m not the only one who fancied a nap. </p><p>I notice that Ginny had turned on the kettle at some point as steam spirals above it but I see no teacups, so I imagine that she passed out while waiting for it to boil. A puff of laughter opens my mouth into a small smile and my anxiety eases a bit. It’s pretty hot in here so I decide against laying a blanket over her. She’s so serene it stills my heart.</p><p>My head feels like it’s spinning though, so I transfigure one of the chairs into a second couch (don’t you just love magic?) and lie down on my side so I can gaze at Ginny’s sleeping form. The only problem is, she’s not sleeping any longer and is gazing back at me through honey brown eyes. </p><p>“Sorry to wake you,” I whisper. </p><p>“It’s alright. I can fall back asleep in two seconds,” Ginny reassures me sleepily. Even this small act of forgiveness feels like a cool raindrop on a wilting plant. “I was just dreaming about you I think.”</p><p>“Oh...” I don’t know what to say to <i>that</i>. The only reasonable response seems to be: “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Sorry for what?” she asks, light eyebrows scrunching together. </p><p>“I’m sorry for everything,” I start, feeling encouraged by that one raindrop of forgiveness. I’m thirsty for it now. “I’m sorry for what I did back then… I’m sorry for everything you went through. For everything I did.”</p><p>Ginny doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. First she looks startled and upset but that quickly transforms to an expression of mild annoyance. She remains lying down, but musters a half-assed glare and says,  “Sounds like you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”</p><p>“Yeah.” I nod. “That too.”</p><p>“Look, Pansy,” Ginny sighs. “I don’t want to go there. We don’t need to. Today has already been a lot and I really need to squeeze in 40 minutes of sleep.”</p><p>“Oh.” I don’t know what is wrong with me but I blurt out another, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Oh shut up and go to sleep,” Ginny says, her eyes smiling at me. “You look like shit and you ne-ne-” yawn “need a nap.”</p><p>I know for a fact that my makeup is perfect and my light summer robes are pressed wrinkle free, but I risk a small smile.</p><p>She closes those caramel eyes and cuddles into the couch. I believe her when she says that she can fall asleep at the drop of a hat. My mind settles as I watch her breathing slow, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. In less than a minute she’s clearly asleep. I have maybe 40 more minutes before I have to wake up from a nap. Considering how I’m never able to fall asleep in under two hours, I summon a bottle of short lasting Napping Draught. I take a tiny sip and let sleep take me.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>BLACK LIVES MATTER</p><p>pm me if you want to talk about racism. Otherwise leave me kudos and comments about how much you love my story!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. "I just accidentally made too much is all."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello readers! Big thanks to my wonderful and gorgeous partner, Richie for being my beta.</p><p>So... this was hard week for us Queer HP fans. JKR's tweets and essay against trans* people were abhorrent and very disappointing. She has made statements like these before, and my heart is heavy as I denounce her as my literary hero. That she chose to do this during a Black uprising and Pride... well, I won't rant. What I will say, is that HP has millions of creators: from publishers to all the anti-transphobia actors and film staff. And here, as fanfiction writers and artists, we have an opportunity to reclaim the story that has been a huge part of our lives. Like people re-imagine Shakespeare or re-interpret the Bible, we have every right and a responsibility to make HP as Queer as it has always been in our hearts.</p><p>With that being said, read on!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Ginny’s nap she had a very pleasant afternoon. She got to observe the Chilean team practice with their reserve players and recorded plenty of content that would be useful in the unlikely event that the reserve players get any flight time. Some of them were very good and Ginny reported her opinion that some of them flew even better than the starters but with less well-known names. </p><p>Upon returning to <i>the Prophet</i> tent around 7pm she was pleased to send Mr Gibble a long letter of observations and professional judgements. Maybe it was the early morning quickie with Alicia, the seemingly sincere albeit incomplete apologies from Pansy, the mid-day nap, or maybe it was job satisfaction. Whatever it was, her spirits were high and she was in the mood to cook . She loaded zucchini, mushrooms, kale, and peppers into a marinara sauce and boiled up some spaghetti. Or rather, a lot of spaghetti… as was apparently her habit she was overzealous with the portions.  It looked like she’d be eating spaghetti all week until Pansy entered the tent. </p><p>“Ginny,” she slung her bag on the floor and tossed her modernly designed but traditionally inspired grey robes on the floor. “What do you call a Gryffindor with two braincells?”</p><p>“What?” Ginny responded by surprise not by any desire to hear the answer to what was clearly about to be an awful joke.</p><p>“A pregnant Gryffindor,” Pansy said and sat down at the table, crossing her legs and tilting her head innocently. She sniffed the air, “What are you making?”</p><p>Ginny didn’t laugh… externally. </p><p>“Spaghetti, it’s nearly done,” She said and then rolled her eyes, “And that was a seriously weak excuse for humor.”</p><p>“Careful now,” Pansy smirked. “Keep rolling your eyes, perhaps you’ll find a brain back there.”</p><p>“God Pansy, stop trying to be a smart ass,” Ginny fired back, stirring the pasta. “You’re just an ass.”</p><p>Pansy laughed at that and glorious thoughts of Pansy’s fit ass bombarded Ginny’s mind in the least mature way possible. She decided it was time to strain the water. Meanwhile Pansy turned on some female singer songwriter type music.</p><p>“Ani DiFranco,” she supplied as if Ginny had asked.</p><p>“Never heard of her,” Ginny said, piling spaghetti up onto two plates. </p><p>“She’s an American,” Pansy responded, eyeing up the two plates suspiciously. “And a muggle.”</p><p>“Well aren’t you full of surprises,” Ginny just barely held back from rolling her eyes again, even though she ought to try to find that pesky mind that keeps misplacing itself whenever exposed to sardonic Slyerins. She busied herself by covering the spaghetti with sauce. </p><p>“Yes, I am,” Pansy raised one eyebrow. “Are you entertaining a guest tonight? Because I can make myself scarce if you’d like.”</p><p>“Huh?” It took Ginny a beat to understand what Pansy was on about. Then she looked down at the two loaded plates of spaghetti in her hands. “Oh, er, I guess you can have some?”</p><p>She hadn’t even noticed serving two plates and felt her ears turn red. It was the same as accidentally walking Pansy to her meeting this morning. Pansy swished her wand and the small table set itself instantly with a clean white tablecloth and deep green table runner, and actually silver silverware. Then the aristocratic woman tilted her head as if in thought and then summoned two black candles. </p><p>“Food tastes better by candlelight,” Pansy said in explanation. Ginny agreed with her and that unsettled her. Well, Ginny groaned internally, Fantastic job keeping your guard up! First paralel napping and now a candlelit dinner? But the spaghetti was already offered and the table set. </p><p>“Go figure that you’d pick black candles,” Ginny said. Pansy just shrugged one shoulder as if to imply that yes, black candles are the best and Ginny was clearly unrefined to think any other way.</p><p>Ginny hadn’t meant to make extra spaghetti and was beginning to seriously doubt her decision making capabilities. And it got worse. Pansy <i>accioed</i>  a bottle of red wine and uncorked it with her wand. Two crystal wine glasses appeared with another wandwave and Pansy gracefully poured for them both.</p><p>“A Super Tuscan, ‘95,” she said, the bottle label tilted for Ginny to see. “Food without wine is like a fish without water.”</p><p>“Oh god,” Ginny scoffed and took a big gulp of wine. This was definitely starting to feel like a date and how on earth did she end up on a date with somebody she didn’t like, didn’t trust, and… well… honestly was only maybe a tiny bit attracted to? Memories from the war and a spaghetti date with Pansy mix like peppermint mice and italian wine. “I just accidently made too much is all.”</p><p>“Okay, sure,” Pansy said and Ginny thought for a second that Pansy’s eyes flashed up and down her body. In order to discourage such annoying displays of inappropriate sensuality Ginny started shoving pasta in her face, slurping up the spaghetti noisily.  She was rewarded by the posh expression of distaste that Pansy gave her. Good, this familiar demeaning look was much less confusing.</p><p>“Don’t expect it to happen again,” Ginny continued to say, feeling inexplicably defensive. Sure, the past 24 hours have flowed as smooth as a river about to turn waterfall. Late night conversations, mid-day naps, morning strolls, Italian food. But then again, years of violence and hatred. “It’s not like I was planning to… you know. Whatever.”</p><p>“Of course not,” Pansy delicately twirled spaghetti in her spoon. “Thank you, Ginny. This is delicious.”</p><p>The two of them sat there in awkward/companionable/resentful silence as they drank and ate. Halfway through their plates, halfway through the Ani Difranco album, and over halfway through the bottle of Super Tuscan, they started casual conversation about work. One step above the weather. </p><p>As soon as they were done eating and the dishes were piled in the sink washing themselves, Ginny quickly retreated to her room wishing Pansy “goodnight” although it was barely 9pm. As she plopped onto her mattress it occurred to her that she could have easily saved the extra spaghetti for her lunch tomorrow instead of serving it to Pansy. Ginny lied in bed for a few hours, tossing a quaffle through a magic hoop. Maybe she’d pull out her limited range snitch to play with too. Anything to avoid spending more time with the most confusing roommate she’d ever had -which is saying something considering her London apartment with Luna Lovegood. </p><p>While she could avoid being in the same room as Pansy, the intrusive thoughts about her were un-mutable. Ginny’s a hot blooded, pitta, Gryffindor-type and her feelings were rarely timid. These loud thoughts and fiery feelings were wreaking havoc on her neural passageways. </p><p>Because this wasn’t Ginny’s usual type of attraction. Her whole life she’d gone for dates that were pleasantly casual and easy-going: Dean, Michael, Alicia, low-risk limited-time lovers from abroad. Ginny liked <i>fun</i>. Pansy was <i>not</i> fun.  </p><p>Harry had been a challenge obviously, Ginny considered as she threw her quaffle through the hoop. He was special but in an incomparable way and he had been so much more than a crush. He’d been considerably high risk, but she fell in love and was hopeless thereafter. But the idea of Ginny falling in love with Pansy was laughable. </p><p>Luna might’ve suggested that it was the temptation of the forbidden kumquat… but forbidden romance? Ginny always thought that just sounded trite and overdone in a cheap romance novel kind of way. Not to mention, that kind of thing was a lot of unnecessary work. She took a shot at the hoop and missed, the quaffle falling dully to the floor. </p><p>No, this was not her usual type of attraction and it made absolutely no sense.</p><p>On the other hand, Ginny thought, giving up on the Quaffle and letting loose the snitch, maybe it’s not really <i> too </i>much work. This type of attraction is probably what happens whenever anybody puts two young, single, horny, women who like women in a tent together for a week. It’s the recipe for sexual tension, however incongruous it may be. But tension can be diffused, sometimes, by casual sex, right? And casual sex done right can be very low risk. Ginny’s tender heart would take no place in it. Maybe it didn’t even matter that it was <i>Pansy bloody Parkinson</i> that she was attracted to. The current cohabitation was to blame. It made perfect sense.</p><p>With a strong and decisive swipe of her hand through the air above her bed she caught the snitch. And tonight wasn’t a date. Wine and candlelight are just as aphrodisiac as they are romantic. Everyone has to nap sometimes, and why not do it in the living room? And stoned secret sharing is basically lesbian foreplay. Perfectly casual. Ginny decided at the age 15 to stay sex positive and could now be rest assured that her slutty desire for Pansy was perfectly normal. Healthy even. </p><p>Upon placing the blame on harmless hormones and unlikely circumstances, Ginny could finally relax into slumber.</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Draco, help me. I’ve clearly lost my mind,” I say, after charging into the extravagant Malfoy tent at great risk to my physical well being. Those bloody peacocks were giving me the evil eye and one looked poised to peck. It’s the morning after that unexpectedly romantic spaghetti night with the Weaslette. I have no meetings scheduled until 5pm and I am hoping no breaking news interrupts my time off. I pull my limp, blonde friend up from where he sits doing whatever idle pureblood nonsense he’d been doing. Oh. Reading. What tosh.</p><p>“You have a mind to lose?” Draco drawls taking hold of both my hands. I half notice as his book falls to the ground. “Oh sweet Pansy, it’s adorable that you think that you’re capable of going more mad than you already are.”</p><p>“Bite me.” And he does, pulling my hand up to his mouth. I shriek and kick him in the shin. He gives my hands an affectionate squeeze and I lean my forehead against his shoulder with a pathetic sigh. </p><p>“Shall we walk?” he suggests to me, our hands still clasped. “There’s a little creek through these woods about five minutes from here. I have the feeling you could use a little water time and I could stand to be surrounded by a little less pretentious decor… my mother, I swear, really knows how to Blacken up a tent.”</p><p>“At least I don’t see any taxidermied elf heads,” I shrug, “and yes, that sounds perfect.”</p><p>Hand in hand we leave the Malfoy tent and he guides me down a lightly trodden path to a little creek which is pleasantly devoid of quidditch fans. I know the creek opens up wider down by the water pumps, but it’s crowded there. It’s peaceful here. The underbrush is thicker by the water although tall trees still tower above us dappling the warm sunlight. The sounds of campers are muted and all we can hear is the burbling water and the soft hum of insects. I’m surprised this creek is here so near the campground and all the tricked out tents but that we alone choose to sit by it. We cast an Untraceable charm so that nobody will find us. </p><p>Draco really knows me, I think as we sit down on two large, smooth rocks. He knows from eight years of living together underneath a lake that the sloshing of water against our windows calmed me like nothing else. Now we are silent, listening to the water roll across earth, smoothing us the way it does the pebbles. In this silence I appreciate that we both crave solitude in order to relax and we often prefer solitude together.</p><p>When we were little kids we used to play in the creek that ran through the woods behind my house. We were two only children raised by strict pureblood parents that never wanted us to act as children do, to get muddy and goofy. Grandmother and Narcissa might turn a blind eye to harmless fun, but my parents are allergic to joy and Lucius is a scary man.</p><p>So hand in hand, we’d sneak off together before dinner parties or during meetings that we didn’t know at the time were centered around the demise of muggleborns and the glorification of the Dark Arts. We would sneak off, the house elves covering for us, and go down to the creek and toss our little robes over tree branches so they wouldn’t get mussed. </p><p>Then we’d splash and feel the mud squelch under our toes, not bothered by the mosquitoes, our underclothing getting soaked. We didn’t know how to swim, but the water only came up to our hips so it didn’t matter, and when we knew the time had passed too quickly we would rinse off the mud in the cool water and put our robes back on delicately over soaked bodies and check each other for tousled hair (determinedly kept dry, for we were too little to know drying charms). Our little leather shoes stayed spotless, perched up on big dry rocks. </p><p>Laughing we’d run back to my parents mansion and catch our breath before showing up as the perfectly polite and well groomed pureblood children we were bred to be. Nobody usually cared what we had been up to, except Narcissa, who believed fibs that we’d been studying our Latin. Grandmother knew we were making mischief but she was more likely to lie for us than to chide us. </p><p>Grandmother was the type to pass us forbidden treats under the table but she was always very stiff upper lip and scoffed at physical affection. She was just so bloody English Pureblood; a hard, proud woman. A matriarch, a queen. Narcissa would stroke Draco’s forehead and give positive reinforcement for his good behavior and childish jealousy would gnaw at me seeing the kind of familial affection Draco received. Draco would pass on that familial love to me though, and I developed what little tenderness I have through him. Goneril and Iago haven’t ever told me they love me. Not once. Not that I care.</p><p>As teenagers that creek saw us through endless packs of cigarettes, stolen expensive booze, confessions of crushes, and  admissions of fears. Now, even on an unknown creek at the World Cup, everything feels familiar. The water here would have been too deep for small Draco and I though; I imagine it’s nearly five feet deep upstream by a natural dam. We would have drowned. My knees are pulled up to my chest and I am precariously perched on the rock. Draco is leaning back on his arms, relaxed and sprawling. From years of practice he doesn’t get dirty. </p><p>“So,” after a long while he breaks me out of my reverie, “you’re losing your mind?”</p><p>“Oh yes, that,” I sigh and remember my madness. “All that grey matter feels like it’s boiling and gushing out of my ears. Some of my neural networks seem to be dripping down the back of my throat and upsetting my stomach too.”</p><p>“That’s quite unsavory, Pans.”</p><p>“Yes, indeed, it is.”</p><p>“Should I guess?” he asks with an eyebrow raised. I nod. “Ginny Weasley.”</p><p>“Right in one,” I nod. “10 points to Slytherin.”</p><p>“You really like her,” he continues to guess. “Christ, everyone really likes her. Except me, obviously. Don’t really get what everybody keeps fussing about--”</p><p>“Draco.”</p><p>“Right. You were always attracted to her and now that you’re sharing a tent with her and getting to know her, you’re having Feelings.”</p><p>I confirm that he’s correct with a huff of breath. </p><p>“Okay then,” he sits up and pulls off his shoes to reveal unnaturally pale feet. “I’ve seen this one before. It’s shoes off o’clock.”</p><p>He dips his bare feet in the creek and I follow in suit, the cold water up past my ankles. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and wordlessly hands me one and props one between his own lips. Like the gentleman he is he lights them both and we each take a savoring drag.</p><p>“You’re a Bad Influence, Draco Malfoy,” I said through a small smile.</p><p>“Of course I am,” he smirks, smoke white in the dappled sunlight. “So first off, does she even like women?”</p><p>“Yeah, she definitely likes women. She likes the whole gender spectrum.”</p><p>“Good. Second, do you think she hates you?”</p><p>“I’m positive she hates me,” I tell him. “But then she goes and makes me dinner… and tells me secrets... and sometimes I think she is almost flirting with me.”</p><p>“Merlin, I don’t know what it is with these Gryfindors. Hot and cold all over the place,” Draco wonders aloud. “Wait… she made you dinner?”</p><p>“Spaghetti,” I whinge, “and the other day she made me breakfast. Although, I think both times were mistakes…”</p><p>“How does one accidently make you two meals?” Draco asks, the same question I’ve been asking myself.</p><p>“Right?!” I exclaim, my chest relaxing with his commiseration. “But then I… well, you know… and so when she brought out spaghetti…”</p><p>“Don’t tell me,” Draco laughs. “You set the table, lit some candles, and pulled out a Borolo, didn’t you?”</p><p>“It was a Super Tuscan,” I reply, but he hears my unspoken admission.</p><p>“How’d she take that?” he asks. </p><p>“ I don’t even know,” I shrug and wave my cigarette around. “I almost feel like she could like me too… but I don’t know how on earth she could… you know.”</p><p>“Like, how she could forgive you for being an evil racist bitch that tortured and mocked her and tried to turn her boyfriend into the Dark Lord?”</p><p>“Yeah, that.” </p><p>“Honestly Pans,” Draco says, “If you wanted advice on how to earn the affection of a hard headed Gryffindor you’re really asking the wrong man.”</p><p>I shake my head and he breathes deep, understanding my meaning. He’s successfully earned the affections of a hard headed Gryffindor. Even if the crazy boys haven’t made smooth sailing of it, the achievement isn’t something to ‘poo poo.’</p><p>“Okay, fine,” Draco said, “I think Harry moved past the past the same way we all have been trying to. Slowly but with a heavy sense of urgency.”</p><p>“I don’t follow.”</p><p>“Of course you don’t,” I shove him and he almost drops his cigarette in the water. He glares at me but continues. “Well, it was slow because the mutual attraction, er, obsession started at Hogwarts and it took him forever to even notice because saving the country is rather distracting from the whole wanting to shag a Death Eater thing.”</p><p>I nod, encouraging him to continue. </p><p>“But the urgency was because <i>he</i> needed to forgive me as much as I needed him to. Hatred, as you know, sits heavy on one’s soul. I think that Harry was exhausted and decided that he was done fighting. Allowing himself to see me as more than a Death Eater git allowed for him to see the world as more than a war ground.”</p><p>“Wow,” my eyes are wide, “and here I thought he was just a randy bastard.”</p><p>“Well,” Draco smirked, “that too.”</p><p>His cocky posture slips for a second and I feel guilty. Potter is in Romania, avoiding Draco. It’s a little unfair of me to bring it up when Draco puts forth such an effort to feign indifference. It’s frustrating; maybe if those boys had set a precedent for unlikely pairings then Ginny would be more likely to see me as a viable romantic option.</p><p>“You still haven’t heard from him?” I ask gently. Draco shakes his head and stands up, vanishing the butts of our finished cigarettes. I brush off my robes and we both put our shoes back on grateful for our grown-up abilities to cast drying charms on our feet. He helps me up and we lift the seclusion charms.</p><p>“So, are you hungry at all?” Draco asks me. “Or thirsty?”</p><p>“Draco Malfoy, it’s barely noon and I have to interview Very Important People later!”</p><p>“I meant tea, Pansy.”</p><p>“Oh alright then. Lunch at yours?”</p><p>“I think Wibbles may have made some canapes,” Draco smiles as we climb back through the budding underbrush. “And cherry tarts!”</p><p>“We all know you’re just in it for the sugar,” I  chide him. </p><p>“Hey, it’s lucky for you that I like tarts so much,” he jibes and I elbow him in the chest. After catching his breath he sticks out a leg to trip me. I nearly fall, but determined to take him down with me I grab the sleeve of his robe, which leaves him no option but to catch us both. We spend lunch talking shit, acting as full of ourselves as we pretend to be. Neither of us are fooled, but we’re okay with that.</p><p>***</p><p>Ginny Weasley loved to fly. She flew nearly every day for the past 20 years. First year at Hogwarts had been rough when she wasn’t allowed a broom and childhood had been infuriating when all her brothers would play together but she could only sneak to the broom shed to fly alone. The shoulder injury that ended her chaser career was heartbreaking not only because of the loss of a job, purpose, and passion, but also because she couldn’t fly for months afterwards. Then there was her flightless 6th year at Hogwarts of course… The Carrows had insisted that flying was a privilege for muggle-haters only. These are the things that she hates to think about.</p><p>Ever since all the International Quidditch teams fully arrived at the World Cup site, she hadn’t been able to fly in the arena. Everywhere else was heavily wooded, which meant she’d have to fly high above the trees or enjoy whipping loops around the thick tree trunks. After several ground bound days, some tree looping sounded like a great idea to Ginny. She was sure nobody would mind, even if it was maybe technically against campground policy. The rules were a bit fuzzy as she hadn’t been paying very close attention when the Ministry Park Ranger had explained them. </p><p>Unlike the first World Cup she’d been to as a girl, the Ministry had opted to give the muggle camp staff a holiday instead of trying to obliviate them every hour by keeping them on site. Neville told everyone that giving brain damage to innocent muggles was a horrendous abuse of power, and after much shaming the rest of his department had to agree. So the only people that could enforce earthbound policy were the Aurors on patrol and Ginny wasn’t too fussed. Quidditch fans that could see her through the branches would be grateful for her to be an opening act for the Game. The sun would set soon so it was Ginny’s favorite time to fly.</p><p>So, for nostalgia’s sake, she donned her old Harpies robes and brown leather wristguards. Really, she rationalized to herself, these robes just breathed the best. Pansy asked her what she was doing; sauntering out of the tent with her Thunderbolt VII. Ginny wasn’t going to answer but her heart was swelling with the yearning for flight… and maybe also with the memories of their dinner last night. Maybe her heart was swelling because of the tiny black teddy that Pansy had revealed for the first time this morning, or maybe the dramatic eyeliner that had been smudged around her dark sultry eyes. But something made her heart swell with yearning and so she stopped to respond to Pansy.</p><p>“I’m going for a flight. Thought it would be nice to get some air. You wanna hop on? This broom can handle the weight and still move fast.”</p><p>Pansy bit her lip, uncertain. </p><p>“I, well,” Pansy rolled a shoulder, as if mustering up her usual hauty nonchalance. “I don’t particularly care for broomsticks.”</p><p>“What,” Ginny laughed, trying to sound mocking but finding that her voice sounded flirty and teasing, “are you afraid of heights or something?”</p><p>Pansy shrugged one shoulder and Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. </p><p>“Oh my god, you<i> are</i>! Well by all means, stay groundlocked.” Then she continued her way through the flap door to mount her broom and take off. </p><p>Relief and freedom surged through her and she rose above the tents. She twirled then swerved around the trees, feeling like a blur. Her hair whipped behind her like a flag and she savored the fresh air awakening her scalp. She dipped and dived, conjuring a training Quaffle which would return when she threw it. Many gazes were turned up toward her, having an audience a familiar and welcome fire in her belly. </p><p>Out of nowhere a bludger zoomed up and would’ve cracked her skull were it not for her quick reflexes and expert sloth grip roll. Glaring down she saw Draco Malfoy smirking up at her from near his tent and flicking up his hand in a careless wave, as if to say “bludger complement of yours truly.” Ginny stuck out her tongue at him, playful and happy for the added challenge. Even if it was from a snot nosed ferret face.</p><p>She flew for nearly an hour before giving into the pressure of work that needed to be finished for Mr Gibble by the end of the day. Besides, she saw a curvaceous brunette perched on a stool in front of an easel and her curiosity outdid her urge to keep flying. Before descending to land she conjured a beater’s bat and directed the bludger back to its source, the blonde little ferret jumping out of the way before drawing his wand and vanishing the dangerous iron ball. As if anticipating more violence he also raised a wand to vanish the beater’s bat from her grip.</p><p>Her converse hit the forest floor and she dismounted gracefully. There was a smattering of applause from around her and she grinned at a group of little kids that were especially enthusiastic from their seats on the grass. There was an awkward minute when a tall, handsome, wizard in his early thirties approached her with a thick marker and asked her to sign his chest. Swallowing her mild embarrassment she humored her fan; he was revealing absolutely delicious abs, after all. But she quickly turned away because there was Pansy sitting right by the door of their tent with a paintbrush and pallet. A jar of dirty water hovered near her easel and her legs were crossed. Her black skirt was hitched short and Ginny couldn’t help but let her eyes linger at the spot where fabric met skin.</p><p>“Hey Pansy,” she said sauntering over, broom in hand, “Whatcha got there?”</p><p>“It’s a painting,” Pansy replied, not turning her eyes away from the paper. </p><p>“Well, yeah,” Ginny chuckled, standing behind the other woman to peer over her shoulder at the subject matter. “I do have eyes, you know.”</p><p>“Of course you do, Weasley,” Pansy turned to her and then raised her eyes a little bit, surprised by the close proximity of their faces. Ginny glanced down at her dark, full lips and Pansy slowly sucked in a deep breath. “I also have eyes.”</p><p>“Glad that’s settled, then,” Ginny said. She suddenly became self conscious that her flight had left her sweaty and took a step back. When she did, Pansy exhaled heavily. “Let’s talk about this painting, then.”</p><p>“Oh? Never fancied you for an art critic, Weasley.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, I guess I’m just full of surprises.”</p><p>“I suppose so,” Pansy dropped the paintbrush into her water and the pigment swirled grey with entropy. </p><p>“So…” Ginny went on, feeling a blush blossoming on her ever disloyal cheeks. “Is that me, then?”</p><p>“No, it’s the Dark Lord in lacy lingerie,” Pansy rolled her eyes. “Obviously it’s you.”</p><p>“Well thanks for that traumatizing visual,” Ginny retorted. “Why are you painting me?”</p><p>“Because you’re ridiculously sexy.” Ginny nearly choked on air and Pansy went on with half a smirk. “Honestly Weasley, full of yourself much? I painted you because the lighting was good and the movement was an interesting challenge.”</p><p>“Is the painting going to move?” Ginny asked looking at the picture of herself on a broom in the trees. “I’ve never really understood how that works. Is it a charm or…?”</p><p>“I might wear muggle lipstick and listen to muggle music and sometimes don muggle clothing, but I’m not some crazy modern artist that doesn’t create moving paintings. Of course water-color Weaslette will fly around on the page.” Pansy’s reluctance to elucidate was clearly ingenuine. So after a moment's pause she explained, </p><p>“While you were flitting around up there I actually painted you several times, from different perspectives. Like cubism. Once I captured one perspective I cast a charm and the paper absorbed the water colors. After they’re absorbed I’d have a blank slate to start again with a different viewpoint. The psychological aspect of the spell casting involves focusing on my personal interpretation of the subject. My paints are imbued with a potion that makes it so that when the painting dries it comes to life. This brand in particular is quick drying and so once I tap the painting with my wand,” and she did so, incanting “<i>pingunt arida, </i>then…”</p><p>She didn’t need to explain any further. The watercolor started to move, the bright colors of Ginny’s hair and robes contrasting the sunlight that looked so real filtering through the trees. Soft watery impressions of leaves and pines rendered the forest beautifully.</p><p>“Wow Pansy,” Ginny sighed. “This is really good.”</p><p>Pansy didn’t respond, but Ginny could tell she was pleased. </p><p>“Can I keep it?”</p><p>“Oh,” Pansy said faintly. “I… I suppose so.”</p><p>After a lingering moment of eye contact, Ginny coughed awkwardly and Pansy busied herself by removing the painting from the easel. </p><p>“Here you are,” she said, eyes fluttering around as if trying to find something to focus on that wasn’t Ginny’s face. Their fingers brushed when Pansy passed her the painting. </p><p>“I’m going to hang it up in my room,” Ginny told her.</p><p>“That seems reasonable,” Pansy nodded, her voice oddly formal. Ginny looked again at the painting of herself --it really was beautiful, it captured exactly how she felt while flying and clearly Pansy had interpreted her in a flattering light.</p><p>“Thanks, Pansy,” she smiled. Pansy finally looked up at Ginny again and smiled. Those frequently cold and arrogant eyes were warm and hesitant. It was with mixed reluctance and urgency that Ginny turned away to go inside the tent to hang up her painting and take a shower. Her stomach fluttered and her nerves were in overdrive but she was giddy, and it definitely did not only have to do with flying.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading :) leave me some love and BLACK TRANS LIVES MATTER.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. "and what, exactly, do you think you're doing?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*hides* sorry I know I missed a week there... personal life and a busy bailing beta and a world that is falling apart (as it needs to)... also, while JKR being a terf is something I'm going to cope with, I kind of needed a break. </p><p>HOWEVER! This chapter should make up for it. It's long, action packed, it's all you've ever dreamed of! (Remember we're in 2007 -you'll notice.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The campground was completely packed by day ten of their stay at the World Cup, the eve of the match. Walking to and from interviews took nearly twice the regular amount of time as one had to weave and dodge through a lively crowd. One tent Ginny was particularly fond of was made completely out of the English flag and Minister Kingsley’s head sticking up like a chimney. Every other daylit hour he sang  ‘God Save the Queen’ in a booming baritone voice while red, blue, and white streamers shoot out from his ears. </p><p>Spanish filled her ears nearly as frequently as English, and she rarely walked past the Chilean fan area of the campground without seeing an absolutely beautiful avocado being eaten. Some Chilean fans had charmed toy sized alpacas and penguins to fly around on mock broomsticks around the tops of tents. White, red, and blue covered their tents as well, which made for quite the tritone forest. Pop up pub-tents featured Chilean cueca music and dance right next to fish and chips, cheap pints, and the odd curry. </p><p>Ginny had spent the morning observing the final Chilean team training and had to admit they were dexterous fliers. After a quick empanada, she had to push back through the crowds to get to the final English training where the hushed stands were strictly press only. All day every day sports journalists from all around the world sat perched on the edges of their seats with a quill poised or camera lifted. </p><p>Ginny’s skin buzzed with energy and anticipation as she sat among them. She kept asking herself, “how is this my life? What did I possibly do that was so good as to deserve <i>this?</i>” The players zoomed across the sky, performing drills with amazing precision and rolling away from bludgers with birdlike athleticism. There were strong winds pushing them around and blowing loudly through the canvass covered staircases; but they captured wind as if with sails to move them even faster. Alicia looked great zipping around up there, completely in her element. </p><p>Ginny was beaming up at her friend when an owl swooped down on her, dropping a red envelope on her head. Panic coursed through her body and she looked around desperately but there was no escape. The letter started to smoke and the reporters near her turned, prepared for humiliation voyeurism. <i>Oh shit oh shit </i> ran through her mind on repeat. </p><p>She couldn’t open the red envelope just like she couldn’t stop the red flush creeping up her neck and spreading to her cheeks in panicked embarrassment and preemptive anger at the unknown sender. But one doesn’t need to open a Howler. It tore itself open angrily and filled the stands with bellowing that matched the wind for volume.</p><p>“GINNY WEASLEY!” The voice was unmistakably Ron Weasley’s. “HOW DARE YOU NOT INFORM YOUR ONLY BROTHERS THAT YOU’RE A RAGING HOMOSEXUAL?!?!”</p><p>“WE HAD TO FIND OUT FROM RITA SKEETER'S GOSSIP RAG FOR MERLIN’S SAKE!” came Charlie’s voice next. Then George’s voice followed up with: “YOU OUGHT TO PREPARE FOR SOME SERIOUS RETRIBUTION LITTLE SIS!! ALICIA SPINNET OF ALL PEOPLE?! SERIOUSLY?! ”</p><p>“HOPE THIS HOWLER FINDS YOU WELL,” came Percy’s snobbish yells. Ron finished with: “FROM, YOUR DEEPLY BETRAYED BROTHERS.</p><p>“P.S. GINNY, DON’T HAVE SEX WITH AN INTERNATIONALLY FAMOUS CHASER RIGHT NEXT TO A PUBLIC MEDIA TENT UNLESS YOU WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW!” shouted Bill’s voice. “JUST A TIP.”</p><p>The Howler dissolved into smoke. <i>Oh no, oh </i>god no, Ginny thought in a panic. She looked around to find everybody staring at her, save for the dedicated athletes flying above them. She could have sworn she even saw the flash of a camera pointed in her direction. ‘<i>How is this my life? What did I possibly do to deserve this?</i>’ she asked herself in a completely different tone from her earlier excitement. She fumed. Those idiot boys were in for a world of trouble, because hell hath no fury like a Weasley woman’s scorn.</p><p>As for all the eyes on her, she stood, turned to them, and met their gazes with fiery brown eyes.</p><p>“Yes, yes, I, Ginny Weasley, former Hollyhead Harpy, and Harry Potter’s first love, enjoy an intimate but casual relationship with Alicia Spinnet, leading chaser for the England International team” she said, projecting her voice from her diaphragm. “Now shove your eyes back in their sockets and get back to work. We are sports journalists, and it’s the final training of our great English team for Merlin’s sake.”</p><p>Most of them had the decency to turn away quickly, and Ginny sat back down and posed her quill above the parchment. She spotted Alicia looking down at her from the sky and could have sworn the flying witch was laughing. </p><p>“Sorry about the Howler,” she said to the little wizard sitting nearby her. The red letter must have blasted his ears off.</p><p>“Not at all!” he wheezed, “can’t leave those unopened. It’s not your fault at all… although the content was somewhat distasteful.”</p><p>Ginny was grateful for the fact that she didn’t give a rat’s ass about the opinion of some random old guy, but a miniscule pebble of regret did nestle into her chest…  While her personal life was no business of her brothers it maybe would have been less drama to just tell them herself. Even if she would have to put up with their boyshit, at least it would have been on her terms.<i>Note to self,</i> she thought, <i>don’t keep stupid and unnecessary secrets. And don’t keep getting involved with famous people and expecting the public to mind their own business.</i></p><p>The rest of training was marred with unstealthy glances that tickled the back of her neck and anxiety about what her brothers had meant by “expect retribution.”</p><p>After the training was done and the sky started to darken, she went down to the World Cup locker rooms to wait for Alicia outside the door. Although she technically wasn’t allowed to wait there nobody had the nerve to make her leave. When Alicia emerged with the rest of the British team they all stopped to look at Ginny, faces ranging from amicable amusement to open hostility. Most of them looked vaguely indifferent though, and that comforted Ginny. They had the game of a lifetime starting in 14 hours and shouldn’t be wasting any headspace on such trivial gossip.</p><p>Alicia patted some backs before the rest of the team graciously walked away, leaving Ginny and Alicia alone.</p><p>“Oh Ginny,” Alicia let out an amused huff of air, “my bad, my agent showed me the<i> Witch Weekly</i> article this morning and I should have warned you--”</p><p>“No,” Ginny shook her head, “you have way more important things going on than my family drama.”</p><p>Even as she spoke, she couldn’t look up from turf and Alicia must have seen that pebble of regret in her chest because she stepped forward and drew Ginny in for a hug.</p><p>“No,” Alicia disputed, leaning back to meet her eyes. “I know this is a big deal for you. And your brothers are dicks for sending you a Howler and it sucks that it was so public, and I should have seen this coming. I guess I’m just new to this international fame thing and--”</p><p>“Oh shut up,” Ginny let a half smile ease some of her tension. “My brothers are just… doomed. Yeah, they’re in deep trouble.”</p><p>“Atta girl,” Alicia winked and briefly squeezed Ginny’s hand. “I wouldn’t want to be on the other side of your wand if I were them.”</p><p>Ginny knew that Alicia was being nice to stay and talk to her when she was probably really thinking about eating a bunch of protein and falling into bed and she didn’t blame her for it.</p><p>“So, we good?” Alicia asked.</p><p>“Of course we’re good,” Ginny reassured her. She stepped back somewhat reluctantly, “I just wanted to check in. You’d better go get rested up for the game.”</p><p>“You’re the best, Gin,” Alicia said, punching Ginny’s shoulder comradely. “Well, goodnight then.”</p><p>“‘Night,” Ginny returned. As Alicia turned to walk away Ginny called after her. “Hey!”</p><p>Alicia looked back.</p><p>“Good luck tomorrow,” Ginny grinned sincerely. “You’re going to be amazing. You looked really on game flying today. Remember to watch your left underarm.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Alicia said, scoffing at Ginny’s advice.  “Don’t worry, I’ll try to give you something epic to write about.”</p><p>“I’m sure you will. Now go get some rest.” </p><p>While she walked back to the Prophet tent she was surprised to find that under all her anger with her brothers, a fresh feeling of inexplicable relief relaxed her shoulders.</p><p>She decided she must’ve been imagining people’s stares as she made her way through the crowds. Few of them probably even read <i>Witch Weekly</i>, she guessed. Even less would really care about the romantic lives of quidditch players. However, when a group of witches gave her stank eye for no reason she had to wonder if they were gossip column enthusiasts with narrow, conservative minds. If so, she really couldn’t be bothered about<i> their </i>opinions. Still, she had to muster all of her limited skills of self restraint to not snap at them. </p><p>The sky was indigo by the time she finally got to her tent, having waded through red, white, and blue parties the whole way down the fairy-lit path. Different genres of music layered over each other along with the loud voices of festive fans. A mother guided her young daughter into a tent for bed, dragging behind her a doll that looked suspiciously like Alicia. Ginny grinned and made a mental note to tease her friend about it later. </p><p>When she pulled the flap door to their tent open she saw Draco in his standard position lying on the couch, head in Pansy’s lap. He was waving around a spliff and telling some sort of dramatic story. Sitting on the chairs adjacent to these two was Blaise Zabini and Gregory Goyle. Goyle had a large plate of cupcakes on his lap and was playing with the blue frosting on the top of one, his eyes bloodshot. Zabini looked bored and was letting Arnold IV roll around on his shoulders. </p><p>Two young women that Ginny vaguely recognized as Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass were lounging on the floor, passing a second joint back and forth and interrupting Draco loudly. To Ginny’s surprise Gabrielle Delacour was there as well, propped up on the fireplace with a martini. Ginny stood there awkwardly for a moment, wondering if she was supposed to be annoyed and yell at them all, or if she was supposed to storm into her room avoiding eye contact.</p><p>Then, before she had a chance to do either of those things the group of Slytherins stopped to stare up at her. </p><p>“Oh, hi Ginny!” Gaby jumped up to give her a quick kiss and then plopped back down.</p><p>“Hey,” said Ginny, feeling somewhat dazed. For the second time that day, everybody was looking at her. </p><p>There was a beat of silence before Pansy pushed Draco off her lap saying,</p><p>“Make room, Draco.” Draco grumbled, nearly falling off the couch and onto Millicent. To add insult to injury Pansy snatched the joint from his hand.</p><p>“Hey gingersnap,” she said to Ginny, offering up the joint. “How were the trainings? Anybody fall off their broom and get grievously injured?”</p><p>“Oh,” Ginny made her choice in half a second. She graciously accepted the weed and took a drag before lying. “The trainings were fine. What are you all up to?”</p><p>“You mean ‘what are you doing here’?” Daphne corrected. “What does it look like we’re doing?”</p><p>“Shut it, Daph,” Blaise said, kicking his friend lightly from his chair. “Her apologies Miss Weasley, Daphne only pretends to be well bred.”</p><p>Ginny allowed herself a huff of amusement at being called “Miss Weasley” that turned into a small cough from the smoke in her lungs. She hadn’t completely given up the temptation to hex the lot of them but Gaby was there and then Pansy kneeled up on the couch to hold Ginny’s hand and pull her over. She let herself be pulled, knocking her legs clumsily against the couch before Pansy dropped her tingling hand. Ginny ended up sitting half on the arm of the couch and half on the seat, trying to touch Pansy as little as possible for a reason she chose not to explore. She passed over the J as a mild and pleasant floating sensation filled her bones.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Pansy apologized, triggering a mocking joke from Millicent that Ginny didn’t really hear but had the rest of the group cackling. While they laughed, only Ginny could hear the rest of what Pansy said. “I knew Draco and Gabrielle were coming by, but then the rest of these dim wits showed up unannounced.”</p><p>Except apparently Daphne had heard that last bit, and snapped, “Hey! Who are you calling a dim wit?”</p><p>“You,” Pansy nodded, eyebrows raised in authority. The Slytherins continued their conversation about nothing and Pansy turned back to Ginny, “I can kick them out if you want… I know we can kind of be a lot. We could relocate to Blaise’s tent.”</p><p>“No,” Ginny said, surprising herself. “It’s alright.”</p><p>Pansy smiled up at her and leaned over to nudge her with a pointy shoulder. Ginny nearly fell off the couch in reaction to the jolt that spread through her from the casual touch. Pansy laughed and scooted over closer to Draco, gesturing for Ginny to take a full seat on the leather sofa. Ginny found her eyes resting on Pansy’s exposed cleavage and hurriedly agreed that maybe sitting at a lower level would be a smart choice. However, when she moved down to sit next to Pansy the couch seemed to develop a vendetta against her sanity and dipped so that their hips were pressed side to side. Pansy went on to tease Goyle about hogging all the cupcakes--</p><p>“You didn’t make them all for yourself, did you?” </p><p>As if Blaise considered them old chums from Slug Club as opposed to vaguely hostile acquaintances he held up Arnold IV and said, “This is a generically flocculent Pygmy Puff. What’s his name?”</p><p>“Generically flocculent?” </p><p>“Yes Miss Weasley, that’s what I said.”</p><p>“Pretty fluffy,” Pansy explained to Ginny, sending her a look that clearly said <i> ‘what a twat, right?’</i> as if they were co-conspirators.  </p><p>“From that tosser, it’s a high compliment,” Draco told her, leaning around Pansy. “And his name is Arnold the fourth, Blaise.”</p><p>“That’s fairly dignified,” Blaise said, somehow looking superior while cuddling a little pink fluff.</p><p>Right as Ginny was about to lose all ability to hold any sort of sensical conversation, another unexpected but much more welcome guest stepped through the fireplace, nearly spilling Gaby’s martini. Relief flooded through Ginny alongside the surprise as she recognized her best friend who she hadn’t seen in a week.</p><p>Luna Lovegood wore a floofy, yellow party dress and was covered head to toe in gold body glitter. Perched on top of her head was a hat evocative of a humongous parsnip with rainbow streamers cascading from the top. She smiled floatily around at the Slytherins before coming to stand by Ginny and leaning over the side of the sofa for a loose one armed hug.</p><p>“Hello Ginny!” She said, with her characteristic wide eyes. She looked around at the Slytherins who had all gone quiet and were staring at her with mixed looks of amusement and bewilderment.</p><p>“What is <i>that </i>on your head?” Daphne asked mockingly, pointing an accusing finger. Before Ginny had the opportunity to teach the bitchy Slytherin a lesson, Luna answered with a mild smile.</p><p>“It’s my fun hat!” she explained. “Are you all here for the party?”</p><p>“I thought we <i>were </i>the party?” Pansy said uncertainty, looking at Ginny like maybe she knew what Luna was on about. Ginny, however, was completely flummoxed.</p><p>“Luna?” she asked tentatively. The blonde girl was twirling her hair mindlessly and looking at Goyle with deep interest. “I’m thrilled to see you, but what are you doing here?”</p><p>“What party?” Pansy tried again.</p><p>“Why, Ginny’s party of course. Hermione invited me. I must be the first one here. Well, except for all your new Slytherin friends.”</p><p>“They’re not my friends!” Ginny blurted out without thinking. She  cringed. “I mean, sorry, Gaby, of course you are my…”</p><p>Gaby twinkled her eyes, flipped her hair, and said something in French. Daphne and Draco laughed but thankfully said nothing about Ginny’s embarrassing response. Millicent and Goyle had laughed too, but Ginny had a strong suspicion that they didn’t know what they were laughing at -Ginny couldn’t be the only one who didn’t speak French.  Luna noticed nothing and Pansy pretended to notice nothing.</p><p>Then Neville Longbottom stepped out of the fireplace with Hannah Abbot close behind, both of them cheering with ‘hello’s. Ginny stood up in confusion, half smiling as they stepped over the girls on the floor to slap her on the back.</p><p>“Congratulations, Ginny!” beamed Neville.</p><p>“Yes, we’re so happy for you!” Hannah said bouncily. Ginny had no idea how to respond. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Slytherins eyeing up Auror Longbottom and surreptitiously hiding their weed although the tent still reeked. Pansy tugged on Ginny’s sleeve and whispered urgently:</p><p>“You didn’t tell me you were having a party!”</p><p>“Well, neither did you!” Ginny whispered sharply back while her friends engaged in a conversation about Luna’s hat.</p><p>“I didn’t know they were coming over!” Pansy countered.</p><p>“Well I didn’t know either!” Ginny forced a smile as Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnagin emerged from the fireplace as well. Through gritted teeth she said to Pansy, “shit, shit, shit! Are we allowed to have this many people over in the Prophet tent?”</p><p>Pansy shrugged dismissively and started to snicker as Dean Thomas and Draco Malfoy exchanged withering glares. Seamus shouted out congratulations and Ginny began racking her brain for a reason for celebration. Then she saw their rainbody bow-ties and disbelief collaborated with apprehension to color over her incredulity. Then the worst of it happened as George and Ron came in through the tent doors with a keg covered in rainbow streamers. That’s when it hit her. Those bloody brothers of hers came seeking retribution!</p><p>George threw something into the air that exploded with rainbow confetti and rainbow balloons popped into existence all over the tent. Behind them came Bill and Fleur with several bottles of champagne. Gaby’s reaction to Fleur was the antithesis to Ginny’s reaction to her crowd of ginger-haired twats. While Gaby and Fleur embraced, Ginny raised her wand and soon all three of the Weasley men were hopping on one foot, turning various shades of purple, and sprouting tentacles and/or antlers. </p><p>The rest of the party just watched as Ginny wreaked havoc on brothers that didn’t fight back. When Percy entered the room Ginny drew inspiration from Luna’s headgear and turned his nose into a parsnip and had him doubling over, a victim of a strong tickling jinx. Charlie came in through the door next and got the worse side of Ginny’s infamous Bat Bogey. Ginny should’ve guessed they’d show up, she knew they were getting to the campsite to watch the World Cup today after all.</p><p>“HOW DARE YOU!” the rest of her guests froze, their lips pressed tight in suppressed laughter and eager attention. Except Goyle who was guffawing openly and loudly -Arnold IV may have been tickling behind his ears. Ginny didn’t know or care; she had bigger brothers to fry. Had Ginny not been so focused on scolding her brothers she would have also noted this as the first time she really heard Goyle laugh without malice. </p><p>“HOW <i>DARE</i> YOU!” she repeated even louder.</p><p>Pansy placed a gentle hand on Ginny’s elbow but she shook it off furiously. </p><p>“A HOWLER! REALLY MATURE! I WAS <i>WORKING</i>! AMONG ALL THE RELEVANT SPORTS JOURNALISTS IN THE WORLD!” Ginny barely noticed as Lavender and Parvati entered the tent wearing matching rainbow mini-dresses. “And what’s all <i>this</i>? What is your master plan <i>here</i>?”</p><p>“Ginny,” Bill said, still hopping inelegantly on one foot and holding a bottle of champagne that was definitely going to bubble over when opened. “Come on, the Howler wasn’t my idea of course.”</p><p>Ginny scoffed, disregarding him but turned to glare at Ron and George who had long since dropped the keg. Percy could barely breathe for tickled laughter and Charlie had bats emerging from his nostrils, so she held her wand at her youngest brothers.</p><p>“And what have you got to say for yourselves?”</p><p>“Just can’t believe you wouldn’t have told us something this important!” Ron exclaimed. “And what about Harry?”</p><p>“YES, RON, WHAT <i>ABOUT </i>HARRY? WE BROKE UP<i> YEARS</i> AGO!” Ginny got back to yelling and was pleased to see the same fear on their faces that they wore when confronted by an angry Molly Weasley. “And I am under absolutely no obligation to tell you about my love and/or sex life! MAYBE I DIDN’T TELL YOU BECAUSE IT’S NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS!”</p><p>Ginny’s voice was starting to get hoarse and she was grateful when Pansy passed her a tall glass of water. She took a big gulp, contemplating her brothers.</p><p>“I reckon they’ve learned their lesson, Gin,” said Neville hesitantly from her side. Her brothers did look rather pathetic and so Ginny shrugged and together she and several of the unexpected guests put the Weasley boys right. Poor Percy was beet red, but the first three were back to their original freckly complexions. </p><p>“So,” Ginny raised an eyebrow and addressed George. “What’s this anyways?”</p><p>“It’s a party,” he shrugged, sheepishly stating the obvious as more Hogwarts alumni came through the floo looking around at the tension filled tent. “You know, for your coming out.”</p><p>As he said it, more rainbow streamers erupted from where his ear used to be. With that, whatever tension remained faded away. Weasleys are good like that. </p><p>“I get a party? Just because I got caught shagging a lady? I mean, I didn’t even come out so much as got outed publicly.”</p><p>“Hey,” George quirked his head with a joke in his voice,  “I ear you! But any excuse to celebrate is a good one lil sis!”</p><p>Everybody else cheered and then Lee Jordan was picking out loud music and Ginny felt her anger deflate into warmth as all of her brothers rounded on her for a big Weasley group hug. All around her, furniture was being shoved aside and more of Ginny’s friends started to arrive through the door and fireplace. Several Harpy teammates lined up to slap her hard on the back and most of the old DA crowd from school pulled her into hugs.</p><p> It was a testament to the high quality of the Prophet tent that it expanded seamlessly to accommodate the crowd. It stretched just enough and no more, so everybody was still crammed together and infecting each other with the type of energy that can only be generated by crowds and music. Rolf showed up with a hat to rival Luna’s resembling a giant herring rather than a parsnip. It smelled authentic.</p><p>“Here’s a toast to my sister’s newly discovered gayness!” Bill cheered, popping a bottle of champagne letting the bubbles froth everywhere. George assisted, charming the bubbly to pour itself into the flutes he passed out. Everyone cheered and attention dispersed.</p><p>“Hey,” Ginny told Bill and Ron, smiling grudgingly and accepting a glass of bubbly.“I’m not gay, I’m pan. And I discovered it years ago, so it’s hardly new.”</p><p>“What, like you’re attracted to pans?” Ron asks. </p><p>“I will hex you again!” Ginny seethed. Ron held up his hands in surrender so Ginny decided to educate rather than punish. With a sigh she explained, “It’s a term that grew into its current definition in the 90s to describe somebody who is attracted to people regardless of their gender.”</p><p>“I told Dad he shouldn’t have got that muggle competeture working,” Bill laughed. </p><p>“Oh. My. God. I google human sexuality one time!” Ginny groaned. “And stop being ignorant, the very intelligent muggles created computers not, competetures.”</p><p>“So you’re attracted to everyone?” Ron looked bewildered. Both of her brother’s ignored her brief defense of muggles -which kind of pissed Ginny off. But she let it go with a deep breath and determination to stay on topic.</p><p>“That’s not what she said, you twat,” Bill said, swatting him on the head. “Just that she likes people based on who they are, not what’s under their robes, right?”</p><p>Ginny smiled at her much more intelligent brother before sighing at Ron, saying, “I’ll let Hermione try to actually explain it to you, you dunderhead.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Ron waved a hand dismissively. “Wait… so, you were into Harry for real then?”</p><p>“Ron!” Ginny punched him hard in the stomach, “I was in love with Harry for years! Merlin, get your head on straight!”</p><p>“Your head’s not on very straight though, is it?” Ron wheezed. Ginny hit him like a girl and poor Ron had not been prepared.</p><p>“God,” Draco drawled derisively from the couch, “A Coming Out Party? What even  is that, then? Like a gay batmiztva?”</p><p>“A gay quinceanera?” suggested Blaise.</p><p>“No, a gay debutante ball,” Daphne decided with authority. </p><p>“Really, You Gryffindors will take any chance to make fools of yourselves,” Draco finished up.</p><p>“I regret to admit, ferret’s got a point,” Seamus told the Weasleys, popping into the conversation. “We never had a coming out party, did we Dean? Never really occurred to us.”</p><p>“Were you ever in the closet?” Draco scoffed, apparently not appreciating Seamus’ agreeance. “Besides, aren’t you Griffindors all the ‘sharing type’? I’m sure Weasley would be more than willing to share the limelight if you asked.”</p><p>Seamus met his gaze with a “touche” that verged on sounding respectful. Draco then eyed up his and Dean’s rainbow bow ties and looked like he was about to say something provocative. </p><p>Fortunately (or unfortunately), Luna brought out her body glitter at that exact moment and started covering the blonde git in it so that he shone silver and pastel blue. He acted aristocratically put upon, but didn’t stop her. Soon Daphne jumped on the glitter bandwagon and half the party followed in suit. Blaise got inspired and transfigured his robes to be a sparkly rainbow. Daphne transfigured her own casual attire into a long blue debutant gown with a rainbow sash. </p><p>As if compelled, Lavender and Parvati transformed their outfits into ball gowns as well, tiny rainbow animal prints. Ginny, warm from the bodies crowded around her, tossed her thick robe onto the back of a chair to reveal the slightly greyed white tank top and dirty jeans beneath. Lavender, her scarred face covered in pink glitter, wickedly transformed Ginny’s clothes into a gigantic rainbow striped hoopskirt dress, complete with a veil and train. It was like if a circus tent and tool had a big gay wedding in the 80's. </p><p>Pansy apparently couldn’t handle the sight of the ridiculous dress and so rescued her immediately, replacing the dress with baggy vertically striped rainbow dungarees over her ratty white tank. Ginny was surprised that Pansy had chosen worn, soft fabric the way that Ginny would’ve chosen for herself.</p><p>“Merlin Pansy,” Ginny said, looking at Pansy like a puzzle to be solved. “It’s not even been two weeks, when did you get to know me so well?”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Pansy explained. “I just have a much higher IQ than most people you choose to associate with. Besides, I’m pretty sure everybody here has seen you in a less rainbow version of what you're wearing.”</p><p>“Hm,” Ginny looked Pansy skeptically up and down. The black minidress and black pumps were not quite festive -albeit alluring. “You aren’t wearing any rainbows yourself Pansy.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“So you should change that!” Ginny exclaimed.</p><p>“Why should I?”</p><p>“Because I said so and this is my party!” Ginny placed her hands on her hips.</p><p>“Good lord, you didn’t even want a stupid party,” Pansy’s lips twitched. “But fine.”</p><p>“...well?” Ginny asked when Pansy changed nothing about her outfit. Then Pansy raised her hand to exhibit perfectly manicured nails. They were all painted black, but had tiny rainbows stuck on top, complete with tiny clouds. “Oh! Well. I’m impressed. But that’s too subtle.”</p><p>“Yeah, well.” They had a staring contest that lasted just long enough for their eyes to water but Pansy broke it. </p><p>“Fine,” she said and then looked down, waved her wand, and her heels adopted a rainbow print. “I guess if we’re all parading around in rainbows...”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ginny nodded, rocking up onto her toes and then back. She recognized the reference Pansy made to their Laughing Rain Night, and it warmed her heart that Pansy remembered that moment. It was with distracted aproval that she said: “I guess you’re gay enough for me now.”</p><p>Pansy’s smirk grew into a giggle. Watching the other woman deteriorate into laughter pulled her right along. Pansy looked like she couldn’t give a fuck, and Ginny wanted to feel that too. </p><p>They looked around at their tent, and started planning survival if Ms Patil ever found out about this. However, Gaby and Parvati weren’t really the type to taddle. Ginny would guess that pretty much everybody felt an undercurrent of animosity across the ancient battle lines. There were enough people to dilute the tension, however.  In addition, half the Slytherins hadn’t been actively involved during that dark year, and so any lingering trauma was mostly directed at Draco, Goyle, and Pansy. As everyone was in Pansy’s tent they could hardly confront her, especially considering her apparent approval from Ginny. </p><p>Luna had risen to the task of protecting Draco with glitter. Goyle only had Arnold IV and so had to fend for him, but he was still armed with delicious cupcakes which he handed out freely. Luna’s boyfriend Rolf and Goyle seemed to really be hitting it off, attempting to train Arnold IV. With hands full of glitter Luna approached Ginny and Pansy where they stood drinking champagne.</p><p>“What are you-” Pansy broke off when Luna raised her fingers to put some rainbow glitter across Pansy’s cheekbone. </p><p>“There!” Luna smiled, and smeared glitter across the other side. Pansy was tilting up her chin and raising an eyebrow at Ginny’s best friend who smiled and said; “That’s lovely.”</p><p>“Lovely,” Draco deadpanned. “Absolutely lovely.”</p><p>“For heathen’s sake,” Pansy said, swilling her champagne.</p><p>“Tell her Ginny,” Luna said and linked an arm around Ginny’s.</p><p>“You’re lovely, Pansy,” Ginny said obediently and far too sincerely. Hard cringe. Pansy’s expression almost remained impassive, but Ginny saw her bite her lip just for a second, the way she had early. Vulnerable. She followed Pansy’s lead with the swigging of champagne. Luckily Luna rescued her with gold glitter. The blonde put it on her eyelids and temples. </p><p> Luna then layered glitter over freckles, adorning shoulders and chest and everywhere. </p><p>“All of this glitter is going to stay here forever,” Pansy sighed half-assedly looking at the tent around her. Neither Ginny nor Luna responded to her.</p><p>“You know, Ginny,” Luna pondered with a tilted head, running glitter through her friends hair “I think in an alternate universe, you and I are soulmates and lovers.”</p><p>Out of the corner Ginny saw Pansy inhale her champagne. She supposed not everybody is used to the strange little things that Luna says sometimes. </p><p>“Of course we are,” Ginny grinned at her friend, straightening Luna’s Fun hat. When her gaze made its inevitable way back to Pansy’s face, her gaze fell to those plum lips.  The slight pout on her face was lickable and Ginny’s mind went straight there, imagining the texture of her tent-mate/collegue/ex-rival’s mouth. She gave her head a quick shake, and turned hurriedly to catch up with the routy quidditch players behind her.</p><p>***</p><p>One highlight of the night for me happens when Ginny is talking to the Harpies, and I’m pretending not to be completely focused on her. That’s when Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil complain about also never having had a coming out party. Daphne grins daggers at me and calls attention to the room by chinking her glass with her wand. Most of the attending witches and wizards turned to pay attention to a blonde Slytherin witch they’d mostly never spoken to.</p><p> </p><p>“Never have I ever kissed, experimented with, or more, with somebody of the same gender and or sex as me,” She declares and then pours back her drink. Swallowing she raises her eyes at everybody in a dare. She had evoked the rules of the ever potent “never have I ever” and they all know they’re doomed.</p><p>“Cheers!” Charlie Weasley enthusiastically tips back a rainbow jello shot. Following him, nearly everybody in the room also took a public drink before following back into chatter. I don’t take a drink, but Daphne graciously lets that go. I do make a note to find out where that rainbow jello shot came from, though.</p><p>“See?” Daphne smiled at Parvati and Lavender, “This is everybody’s party.”</p><p>Then our tent door opens and Hermione Weasley enters with buckets of ice cream. While she’s engulfed in hugs, Harry bloody Potter steps into the room. The room goes hush --save for Lee Jordan’s questionable music choice-- and all eyes are on him. Except his, which finds Ginny’s. Everything freezes for a minute, giving my heart a little frost burn, before the two take broad strides to each other. They embrace like family and it’s like the party heaves a communal  relaxed sigh before all of them swarm in to greet their Golden Boy, just arrived back from Romania. </p><p>***</p><p>Ginny and Harry pulled apart, smiling tentatively at each other. It’d been months since Harry visited the Burrow for Christmas, and Ginny could tell by the look in Harry’s eyes that he, too, was regretting that they hadn’t written much. Now wasn’t the best time for an in depth conversation seeing as they were in a large crowd of people. They knew they wouldn’t have much time or any privacy. Therefore, the brief conversation between Ginny and Harry had gone something like:</p><p>“So, er, congrats on being gay?” He started, the party volume loud enough that they weren’t overheard. Except probably by Hermione who was busily making a show of not listening. Ginny cringed with the awkward knowledge that one's sexual orientation hardly warrants a congratulations. But she smiled, knowing Harry felt awkward too.</p><p>“Pan, actually.” </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Pansexual. I read about the term on the muggle internets. But like, you know, bi.” </p><p>“Oh, right. Good. ” </p><p>“You too?” </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“I mean, like I know about Draco,” Ginny said, voice hushed, smile conspiratorial. </p><p>“How - er I mean, yeah, me too.”</p><p>“Congrats, Harry.”</p><p>“Thanks Gin.” </p><p>Ginny ruffled his hair and he grinned, looking somewhat confused from behind his crooked spectacles. As though Hermione sensed a pause in the conversation she, grabbed one of Ginny’s hands.</p><p>“Congratulations Ginny!” She pumped Ginny's hand with a firm grip.</p><p>“Oh god, don’t,” Ginny groaned, embarrassed by this whole ridiculous event again. “I’m attracted to women, so what? It’s not like I’ve invented a cure for lycanthropy or single handedly reformed the Wizarding legal system--”</p><p>“No, Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed. “Congratulations on your new job! Working at the World Cup right as you enter your new journalism profession? That’s really exciting and impressive. We’re so proud of you!”</p><p>Ginny’s shoulders relaxed. Hermione was just such a winner. Harry seemed to appreciate the interruption too.</p><p>“You’ll have to tell us everything you’re learning!” Hermione said, “What do you think of Minister Huerta and the International Coalition of Indiginious Wizards? I read that she’s just using them to help her platform but I don’t think that’s at all the case… Oh, but do you think the Chilean Goblin’s civil rights movement is going to finally force wizards to realize systemic change? How about-”</p><p>“Oh hey,” Ron joined them with a pint and a smile. “What do you think of Felipe Rojas? Think he’s any competition for our Alicia?”</p><p>Ginny spent a chunk of time trying to keep up with Hermione’s flurry of ideas and failed attempts to avoid acting the part of Wizarding Savour. They even graciously let Ron sit in on the conversation -the great twat. Eventually, the conversation did end up with bets against or for Rojas and Alicia, seeing at Quidditch was what Ginny was best at.</p><p>***</p><p>While Ginny is over with the Golden Trio Draco shrinks beside me and I press the back of one pinky against his arm, a private show of support. With well practiced skill we half engage in banter without letting our attention waver from Ginny and Harry. With time, the two lions seem to have a chance to talk just the two of them. If anybody notices my and Draco’s sidelong stares, they are too well mannered to comment on it. </p><p>But now she’s coming towards us, wearing the rainbow overhauls I gave her like a red carpet dress. Her hair is messy and she wears no makeup. She told me that I was lovely earlier. She’d said that: “Pansy, you’re lovely.” But now as she walks up to us, she’s looking at Draco.</p><p>“Harry says ‘Outside, 10 minutes’” Ginny tells Draco. Her bare freckled arm touches mine and I wonder if I’m contracting gold glitter. It feels like I am.</p><p>“He what?” Draco stutters, “I mean, great prat thinks he can tell me what to--”</p><p>“Malfoy.” Ginny raised a bossy eyebrow at him.</p><p>“Right, well.” Draco crossed his arms and jerked his head. “Right.”</p><p>I’m completely focused on Ginny, the weed and the champagne taking on the slight color of my stimulating afternoon wake up potion. She’s so pretty. Like, just so fucking pretty. And she’s smiling at me. Draco jiggles and bounces for those next ten minutes that the three of us talk about nothing. Then Draco leaves abruptly as if a timer was going off in his head saying “Beep beep beep, time to find Harry.” </p><p>So now there are a few moments when Ginny and I are alone together in a crowd. We don’t say anything, but just look at each other. We’re stuck living together in this tent and have had endless time to talk to each other. It’s loud though and people near us have started dancing. We’re close enough now that I could reach out to take her hand and lead her to dance too. I almost do.</p><p> These moments with just the two of us don’t last long as Ginny is the princess of the ball, but I savor that even with all her friends here, Ginny is spending time looking at me. Her brown eyes take me in with the flavor of want and I have no idea how on earth she has so quickly switched from looking at me with loathing to looking at me with… well. I’m not sure, really what’s in her eyes as she looks at me. But it’s something big, something hungry.</p><p>That’s when I first realize that maybe, just maybe, Ginny Weasley might want me. Two seconds after that realization I change my mind: Ginny Weasley definitely wants me. </p><p>When the Hollyhead Harpies come over and lift Ginny up in the air she lets her gaze linger on me. She’s looking at my cleavage, so I menuvure my torso for her to view from the best angle. Yep. She wants me so bad. Even if she doesn’t<i> like</i> me. I wonder if I could make her like me… </p><p>So I try. The party passes in blazes of dancing and chatting and drinking and the whole time my mission remains: make her like me. I dance with my friends, but feel her eyes on me. I pretend not to notice her and joke with my Slytherin friends and Gaby. I laugh at her, just mean enough. Then I let my gaze burn into her, let her feel the heat before I look casually away. I make sure that she spends time with everybody at the party because I want her to feel this love that everybody is pouring at her. I have no idea what that must feel like, but I imagine it feels good.</p><p>Every so often, she checks in with me. I check in with her. </p><p>More than playing a game. I bring her water:</p><p>“Here, Ginny,” I make sure our hands touch when I pass her the glass. “Drink up, it’s good for your skin.”</p><p>At some point she gets a little bit wobbly. I don’t let her fall over, but have her lean on me instead, laughing her sides into stitches: “Careful gingersnap, you’re ridiculous.”</p><p>I think she likes when I casually call her overly sweet pet names. It makes her already pink cheeks turn even pinker.</p><p>We drink more and more champagne, so Gabrielle and I go outside for a smoke break --sorry, but it’s very difficult to not smoke cigarettes when you’re me and you’re drinking. Gabrielle is very French, so naturally she smokes like a chimney. I’m surprised when Ginny joins us:</p><p>“Can I bum one?” she asks. Gabrielle shrugs and begins to offer a cigarette when I force her hand down.</p><p>“Absolutely not Miss Ginny Weasley!” I scold. “You are much too pretty to smoke cigarettes!”</p><p>“<i>Merde</i>, that is ridiculous,” Gaby huffs. Her french accent is stronger than ever due to the champagne. “The amount of times I have heard ‘you are too pretty!’ Let a woman make her own damn choices.”</p><p>“Yeah, Paaansy,” Ginny mock whinged, catching my hand in hers and swinging it back and forth. I’m sure if I knew her better I’d think this was annoying, but as it is, I think she’s radiant and amazing. Well, she’s really hot.</p><p>“I said, absolutely not,” I repeat. “Who’d have thought I’d be a good influence, but really, you’re much too old for a first cigarette.”</p><p>“Ugh,” Ginny groans, stepping close to lean her head against me. “You’re no fun.”</p><p>“No,” I quirk up an eyebrow. “I am very fun.”</p><p>“And that,” Gabrielle says stomping out a butt, “is  my cue to go back inside.”</p><p>The veela-like-frenchwoman gives me a look that says something like:<i> I know what you’re up to, you naughty girl</i>.  I’m hoping my responding shrug communicates, ‘<i>Yeah, I’m a badass sexy witch, I'm gonna get some.’</i> but I’m thinking it probably says something more like ‘<i>Well I have no idea what I’m doing.’</i> </p><p>Then Gaby is gone and Ginny and I are alone again. For real this time, without a party around us, instead it’s just trees. The spring night air is cool and the noises from inside our tent are rowdy but muffled. I’m still halfway through my cig and she’s still holding my hand. She’s lifting my hand up to her face. I don’t know what she’s doing. Then she kisses my knuckles, her lips soft and ever slightly parted. I don’t know what I’m doing. She slowly drags my hand down and pulls it so that it is against her hip. Instinctively I open it to press my palm flat across her side. I let my hand slide up to where her overhauls open on the side and I slip my hand in to wrap around her back. In doing this I pulled her towards me. </p><p>She’s staring at my lips, so I toss my cigarette to the ground and lean a little bit closer.</p><p>“You smell like cigarettes,” she says, still transfixed by my mouth.</p><p>“Yeah,” I agree with a smirk. “Aren’t you glad I wouldn’t let you smoke one?”</p><p>Then she’s kissing me. It’s rough and sloppy and absolutely delicious. But I push her back.</p><p>“Ginny,” I start, “I--”</p><p>I’m not sure how I want to start. Should I say, “<i>we’ve both been drinking</i>” or “<i>everyone inside must be missing you</i>” or “<i>I’m pretty sure you haven’t forgiven me and should you really be kissing somebody you think is evil?<i>” </i></i></p><p>
  <i>
    <i>But I don’t want to say any of those things, not when she’s so close and wearing those ridiculous rainbow overhauls. Not when she thinks I’m <i>lovely.</i></i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You what?” Ginny grins goofily at me. “You think we’ve been drinking and that our tent is full of people and that I don’t even like you?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Well,” I raise my eyebrows, impressed. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You’re probably right then,” she says before stepping back from me and flipping her hair. “Let’s go back inside.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Then she flounces back through the flap door like nothing just happened. The nerve of that woman dear lord I can’t even. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>So I follow her inside, debating whether this is a sober-up-occasion or a drink-much-more occasion. Generally, I like to think that I know how to behave like the grown ass woman that I am. Generally, I would remember that there’s a very important quidditch game tomorrow and ought to prioritize my career. Generally, Draco is here to help me get my shit together. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Bust sometimes, I must rationalize that I am still in my 20s and am allowed to act immaturely for just a while longer. I rationalize that even Slytherins can make rash choices and my career will probably survive a slight hangover. Finally, Draco isn’t here and neither is Potter, so my shit can remain completely not together. The thought of that unlikely couple makes me think: if Draco can repeatedly hook up with the Chosen One, then why shouldn’t I start something with Ginny?</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>She’s dancing with Luna… if you can call that dancing. Looks more like they’re charading as grindylows. Now she’s trying to say something loudly to Neville, laughing over the music. So I make a point of hanging around the other end of our stretched out living room with Daphne and Gaby -both of whom keep giving me annoying, knowing looks. And now Ginny is eating the ice cream that Hermione brought and I have to keep up an internal mantra to keep my eyes away from her mouth. It goes like this: <i>just wait for a little longer, just wait for a little longer.</i></i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Then Hermione Granger and Bill Weasley decide that the party is over. We started early and we’re ending early. It’s barely 12:30, but Hermione orders everyone away and she commands authority.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“The World Cup starts in under 9 hours people,” she says, loudly. “The whole reason we’re all here.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Oh,” Luna pipes up vaguely, “I’ve heard that due to the highly contagious Coronacoff they’ll be postponing the match until further notice. This may likely be that last party we ever attend.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“There’s no such thing as a Coronacoff,” Hermione rages, clearly having no patience for Loony Lovegood’s fantastical ideas. “But there is such a thing as sleep deprivation. Everybody, it’s time to head out.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Come on,” Bill follows up, leading people out the tent door. Lee Jordan cuts the music and everybody lines  up to hug Ginny once more. Draco and Harry never make a reappearance. People trickle out leaving behind empty cups, rainbow balloons, and body glitter.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The alcohol steals my nerves so that when the tent is finally empty of party-goers I look at Ginny and know that despite her casual flouncing away earlier, she still wants me. My rainbow heels clack as I determinedly avoid her scorching gaze, vanishing streamers and empty cups. I poke my wand into one of the balloons and cough when it pops with an explosion of glitter. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Leave it,” she says from right behind me. I freeze when I hear her take another step toward me. “I like the balloons.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Oh?” I turn with an arched eyebrow. I wobble slightly but am pretty sure that she doesn’t notice. “And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>She has taken another step toward me, freckled hands stuffed into her rainbow pockets. We’re not touching, but just barely. If I looked down I’m sure that our toes would be just inches from each other, but of course I don’t look down. In fact, I’m trying not to blink. I’ve accidentally engaged in a staring contest. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m standing very close to you,” she says, just the hint of slur in her words. My pride doesn’t let me step back and I don’t want to anyways. With my heels on I’m just barely the same height as her. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Why are you standing so close to me?” I ask her. I really want to know the answer… is this only lust or does she actually like me? My intoxicated brain can almost tell the difference, but not quite. I’m standing just a step away from the kitchenette counter and I feel almost cornered.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Well,” she starts, pretending to think really hard. “I am drunk.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“So am I,” I agree. “Granger would tell us to both drink a large glass of water and go to bed.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>She ignores me, rightfully so.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I am drunk. But now there aren’t any people in our tent. Just us.” I realize that she’s referencing our reasons for stopping after that first hurried kiss outside; how those particular reasons have changed.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“But you don’t like me,” I remind her, regret blossoming in my chest. I fight it down through the willpower of somebody trained to not get hurt… however, I’ve always been afraid of getting hurt. Scared is my secret personality trait. Ginny Weasley is 100% not scared. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Do you like me?” she asks quietly. Awww fuck. Her hands are on my waist and there’s not a hot blooded lady-lover in this world that wouldn’t have to admit that Ginny is stupidly attractive. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I…” I’m at a loss, “seems like it.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Cool,” she grins, all confident swagger, “You want me?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I…” I start to answer but pause, distracted. I’m not at all sober and she’s running her hands up and down my sides. They slip lower to play with the hem of my short black dress. “Yes, obviously I want you, Ginny.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I want you too. I think there’s… yeah, there’s definitely something here.” That, just that, is Ginny’s drunken, lusty logic. She takes me in with a deep kiss and grabs at my bare thighs. “Let’s just do this, okay?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>This is so fast, but not fast enough. It was just a week ago that she and I had our wands pointed at each other; hexes flying, trying to set up this goddamn tent that we are apparently set upon shagging in now. My head is spinning, and it’s not just the alcohol. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Fine by me,” I hear myself reply when she pulls back for a second. There’s nothing to be done for it.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>She pushes me back so that I’m pressed against the counter, the kettle knocked aside by my hand as I try to balance myself. Her lips engulf mine again, and she presses herself fully against me. Whether or not she actually likes me stops mattering and I feel all pliant and responsive against her. My whole life I’ve been starved for touch, and she’s all hands. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Hands that push my dress up to reveal my black panties. She grabs the lacy waistband and pulls and releases so that it snaps against my hip. Her left hand comes up to cup my breast while her left tickles it’s way around my upper thighs. Meanwhile she bites and pulls on my lips. This leaves absolutely no room for coherent thought. I meet her every pressure, one hand on the counter keeps me balanced, but the other entangles itself in her messy ginger hair. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Then, without warning she picks me up clumsily by my hips and sits me on top of the counter. I hit the back of my thigh against the wooden counter’s edge but register no pain. I wiggle my ass backwards so that I’m situated, accessible. Then I pull her closer to me by her hair. She gasps and burrows her face in my chest. Using her teeth she sloppily pulls the already low neckline of my stretchy cotton dress down to expose more cleavage which she then licks and kisses. I stretch my neck back with a sigh of pleasure and dizzy frustration. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>While she caresses my cleavage with her mouth she pulls down my panties and I feel incredibly exposed. She has left my rainbow pumps on and my underwear hangs carelessly from one ankle. She’s the Golden Girl, but she feels dangerous to me. Still, doubts are bombarding my mind and I’m sure she must still hate me. There’s no world on which this makes sense. But this isn’t something I can stop. It’s not something I want to stop.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>So when her fingers touch that soft, warm, wet place between my legs this reckless decision stops trying to make sense and my animal mind takes over. She rubs circles around my swollen clit fast and sloppy. She doesn’t apply too much pressure and so each circle swirls with drama, my legs twitching as she slides across my clit over and over again. She’s trailing kisses up and down my neck and my legs spread open for her. Tensing and releasing over and over again, building and building. Every torturous swell feels a little bit like redemption and I’m almost glad to be a sinner if only that the price is this sweet.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Suddenly the pressure is slower, more deliberate and she leans back to stare into my face. My breath catches and my mouth hangs open, lungs frozen. Her eyes remain open when she leans her head forward to kiss me soft and smooth. I kiss her back, and feel an unfamiliar twang right in the middle of my chest. She leans back again, positions her wet hand against me, and tilts her head as if presenting a question. Without hesitation I nod.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>She plunges one finger inside me and I suck in a sharp breath. A desperate exhale. I press my hips forward, my ass dragging against the cold counter top. She pulls out to plunge again, deeper this time. A tiny moan escapes from my mouth and she grins at me, a fox at the chicken coop. I nod at her again and she interprets correctly and adds another finger, stretching me out and filling me up. Alcohol has loosened me up in addition to desire, and I press into her, riding her fingers. It builds and builds and then I’m yanking on her hair, commanding her to go harder. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“More more more please” are the words I think I say. She gives me more. She gives me what I want. Her. I want her and she’s giving me her right now and… fuck. There. Pleasure jolts my body into convulsions that nearly have me sliding off the counter and to the floor. Ginny grabs me around the hips and thighs with her left arm, not allowing me to fall. Supported by her arm, I release around her fingers. Sweat has my tidy bob sticking messily to my forehead and neck. I can tell she’s loving my disheveled appearance because she can’t take her unfocused eyes off of me.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>She removes her fingers from inside me and casually wipes them on her overhauls. The post orgasm buzzing mingles with uncertainty, so I lean forward to kiss her gently on the lips. She kisses me back and I’m reassured. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“I want to…” I start, not knowing where I’m going with it. “Can we…?”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Ginny leans back, her breath still shallow. She takes my hand to help me back to stand on the floor and my heels feel absolutely ridiculous. So I laugh and kick them off, she laughs and grabs a half empty bottle of firewhisky from off the counter where I’d just been fucked. She takes a deep swig and passes it to me. I don’t need the extra buzz, but I take a swig as well, because why the hell not. Then the empty bottle falls to the floor with  thud that nobody notices.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yeah,” Ginny agrees, although I’m not sure if she knows what she’s agreeing to. That makes two of us. So I lean forward to kiss her and then pull her by the hand into my bedroom. She follows willingly albeit clumsily and I push her down onto my bed. God, yes, does she look like she belongs there.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Wait,” I say, realizing a problem. “Take off those ridiculous overhauls.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Hey!” she acts affronted. “You transfigured them for me!”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“You’re right,” I concur. “Evanesco!”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>The overhauls disappear leaving her only in a white tank top, and white boy shorts. I consider telling her to take those off too, but there’s something in me that is glad I’m still wearing my dress (however half hazardly) and am concerned that if I undress her completely then I might be expected to strip as well. Not that I ever feel inclined to do something just because it’s expected of me… wait. No. Scratch that, I’ve been living my life doing what’s expected all the time. But now is 100% not the time to think about familial obligations and awkward arranged marriages. It’s not the time to think at all, actually.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>So I climb on top of her, savoring the sensation of our bare legs rubbing together. I’m wet between my legs and when I straddle one of her thighs she gasps. She must feel me on her. So I rock my hips forwards and backwards, rubbing myself on her leg. It feels so good but I stop, because it’s not about me anymore. I move and quickly swoop down so that my face hovers above her white underwear. My fingernails scratch up her freckled thighs and I nuzzle against her covered public mound, inhaling deeply. She smells delicious. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>I glance up at her to see her smiling slightly. I tilt my head in question and she bucks her hips up to my face in response. So I take off her underwear and gently bite the inside of her milky white thigh, feeling her soft, bare lips near my cheek. Her fingers dig into my scalp and so I even things out and gently bite the other thigh as well. Then I trail soft kisses along the crease where her inner thigh meets her groin, licking around her soft ginger hair.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>“Pansy,” she moans. “Just… god.”</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>I’d usually make a girl beg, but my self restraint isn’t quite up to snuff at the moment, so I dive in, mouth open. Next time I’ll make her beg for it. Next time… thinking about next time turns me on. God. Ginny Weasley. Wants. Me. She thinks I’m lovely and wants to keep my stupid water color and wants to make me dinner and nap with me. She wants me to eat up her salty, rich cunt and damnit I want to.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>So I do. I love that Ginny is a moaner. She’s just as vocal with me now as she was with Alicia that night I touched myself to the sound of her. My ego swells as she does. </i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>It’s not until my jaw is sore and Ginny has had long, rolling, orgasms that I rest my cheek on her belly and listen to her stomach noises. She’s trailing her fingers through my hair and in this moment I know we’re both admitting defeat. Slowly, lazily, I move up the bed to nestle myself into her arms and tuck my head against her chest. She’s breathing slowly and I can tell she has already started to drift to sleep. I want to follow her in that direction, and let my mind flutter past the remembrance of the Big Game that starts tomorrow.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>As I let sex and alcohol lull me to sleep it strikes me that after the game there’s only two more days together in this tent. I wonder vaguely if Ginny will want to keep hanging out after this… we’re coworkers after all, so maybe she’ll want to be friends?</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>What I thought would be an optimistic notion hits me more like a punch to the gut. I don’t want to be friends with Ginny. I savor the taste of her in my mouth and the scent of her chest where I rest my head. I think, maybe, tomorrow I’ll maybe… ask her out or something. Nothing crazy… but I want to get to know her, in more than in a strictly biblical sense. It’s a sweet thought, perfect for sweet dreams. Which reminds me that I have to take my potion. I summon it and take a carefully measured shot before crawling back into Ginny’s arms and drifting to sleep.</i>
  </i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>2007=body glitter. Except that lasts my whole life actually. When I die I expect to explode into glitter and bats. Let me know I'm not screaming into the void. Thanks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. "when we were children trying to survive a war"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello readers! So so sorry it's been such a long time since I updated. I hope some of you stuck around anyways :)</p><p>Wanna hear some excuses? No? Wanna read a brief rant? Probably not... <b>(TW: Real World Talk) </b>but thing is, I'm an American of the United States variety and have been Very Distracted by the rise of facism, the fall of an empire, and the difficult task of dismantling the white supremacist societal structure I benefit from.  So like... trying to dismantle myself... which is hard work... blah blah blah white tears. Also everybody is sick and dying and unemployed. Sometimes that makes writing fanfic feel trivial and unimportant, even though I love it and I know that it's Super Important for our mental health and our hearts etc.</p><p>Meanwhile, my relationship with JKR and HP has been pretty strained what with her being a great big horrible TERF (although 'radical feminist' is too complimentary of a term for her) not to mention fatphobic and racist... I've decided to roll with it and focus on trying to create transformative work. (Which isn't really this fic which is about two cis white girls mostly...)</p><p>Finally, and probably most importantly: I don't have a beta anymore which means that while I'm writing the last chapter of this I also should be editing/posting which creates this whole writer's lull. I have about 10 more chapters written that need to be beta'd. So lemme know if anyone feels like it. </p><p>With that out of my system I bid you 'happy reading!'</p><p><b>TW:</b> torture flashback and angst</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny fell asleep quickly, her body full of alcohol and orgasms. Warm, sleepy, and satisfied. But halfway through a vague dream about Quidditch and rainbows, sleep whirled her subconscious to Alecto Carrow’s cold castle office. </p><p>
  <i>Alecto Carrow sat comfortably on a plush armchair cackling like a hyena while Crabbe screwed up his face in concentration, pointing his wand at Neville’s limp form. The giant boy was learning that you can’t keep torturing somebody once they’ve fallen unconscious. He learned more from the Carrows than all his other professors combined. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Ginny’s back ached from sitting, tied up, on a hard wooden chair for several hours. Neville was limp on the chair next to Ginny, blood dripping from his mouth where he had bitten his tongue. He’d been writhing and shouting for what felt like an eternity while she struggled helplessly against the ropes that bruised her wrists and ankles. Powerless. His screams echoed around the dark walls of her mind, making a migraine bounce against her temples. She had not yet been tortured, except in that she had to watch her friend suffer. The crucio that would eventually come her way was inevitable.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Looks like that one won’t tell us anything at this point,” smirked the evil professor. “You’re excused, please let in our next star pupil.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Crabbe left the room with a big stupid smile on his face. As he left, he held the door open for Pansy Parkinson to strut in. She was pale. Her eyes shone dark and dangerous, her chin held high. She stood above Ginny, face unreadable and completely lacking mercy. Or any other human emotion. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Now,” Carrow said to Ginny, “perhaps watching your blood traitor friend cry like a baby has helped to loosen your filthy tongue. Why did you try to steal Gryffindor’s sword?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Fancied a letter opener,” Ginny replied through gritted teeth. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You’re lying!” Carrow cried. “You know what to do Miss Parkinson.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Without hesitation Pansy raised her wand and shouted.</i>
</p><p><i></i>“Crucio!” </p><p>
  <i>Ginny’s vision went white as pain burned under her skin. Pansy was the first person to ever cast that Unforgivable Curse on her.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Very good, Miss Parkinson,” Alecto Carrow cooed fondly. “What do you have to say now, blood traitor?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Ginny couldn’t think to string words together so instead she spat a mouthful of blood at Pansy, who flinched in disgust. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Why don’t you have another go at it,” she said to Pansy with a malicious smile. “You show such potential.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Parkinson didn’t smile in response but nodded and cast the torture curse again. And again. And again.</i>
</p><p>Ginny gasped, her eyes opening as she sat up. Looking around in a panic she realized she was back in the tent, in Pansy’s room, sheets tangled around her legs. Legs that were tangled with Pansy’s legs. She ached, the feeling of those Cruciatus Curses fresh in her body although they’d happened years ago. She got out of bed clumsily before realizing that she was only wearing a tank top and body glitter.</p><p>Upon vaguely remembering her overhauls being Vanished she desperately scouted the bed for her shorts. Upon finding them, another flood of memories washed through her mind: drunkenly biting Pansy’s lips, the wet feeling of knuckles deep inside the girl pressed up on the counter. She tripped over herself trying to step into her pants and felt the imprints of Pansy’s hot mouth that still left shivers up her core. Nausea overwhelmed her and she turned to bolt out of Pansy’s room.</p><p>When she turned to go, however, she felt a soft clasp of fingers around her wrist, gently halting her movements. She looked down to see Pansy’s smiling groggily up at her. Those same eyes that had been so dangerous in her dream.</p><p>“Gingersnap,” the sleepy witch mumbled, “Where’re you going? You can stay.”</p><p>“Don’t touch me,” Ginny spat, yanking her hand free. She couldn’t find it in herself to care about the confused and hurt expression on Pansy’s face so she looked away and took a few steps toward the door. </p><p>“What...” she heard Pansy continue, hurrying toward wakefulness. “Ginny, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“This...” Ginny said, not looking back. “This is so fucking wrong.”</p><p>She pulled open the door and hurried to her own room, shutting and locking the door. It wasn’t quite light out yet; the sky was just tinted with pale pinks and golds to hint at dawn. The beginning of a day that Ginny wasn’t at all ready for. Her whole body buzzed with panic and she could barely catch her breath as she sat down on her own bed. She cradled her face in her hands, swallowing heavily to stop herself from retching. </p><p>It didn’t work, and she only barely made it to her trash bin before she threw up several glasses of champagne and acidized ice cream. How, she beraged herself, hanging her head over the puke filled bucket, <i>how did I ever forget? How could I ever look past what she did? </i>The sticky sensation of shame burned in her esophagus, exacerbated by stomach acid. </p><p><i>Why, are these memories only haunting me now? </i> She felt like an idiot. A fool. Groaning, she vanished the contents of the bin and leaned back, sweaty head falling against the side of her mattress, slumped on the floor. The only emotion stronger than shame was the fiery monster of hate that was reawoken by her severe lack of judgement.</p><p>The cancerous attraction that had been metastasizing in her for the past week was clearly the product of denial. Those moments with Pansy that had seemed intimate? Ginny understood now that those were moments of manipulation. Pansy had tricked her. The woman was a snake, presenting a poison apple and she, Ginny, had taken a bite. It was just like Riddle’s Diary all over again, except that this time, she wasn’t an eleven year old girl. Pansy had seduced her as a full grown woman. Seduced.</p><p>‘Two truths and a lie’? She was so stupid for starting to  trust  the person who had tortured her repetedly, who had sided with Voldemort, had bullied Hermione, Angelina, and Luna, who’d wished all of her loved ones dead. </p><p>With Ginny’s choice to sleep with Pansy she had done more than betray herself: she’d also betrayed the countless other young witches and wizards that had been victims to Pansy. She led the Inquisitorial Squad through the corridors, chasing Dumbledore’s Army to the safety of the Room of Requirement. Ginny’s breath hitched in her throat at this memory, feeling chased even now. Michael Corner had permanent scars. Ginny herself kept a huge scar across her shoulder blades. Even when Draco Malfoy became detached and seemingly apathetic Pansy hadn’t backed down. When she'd tried to turn in Harry in the final battle it didn’t come as any surprise. </p><p>And after a couple of vague apoligies Ginny just went and<i> had sex with her?</i> So what if it was a long time ago? </p><p>Her body was layered with cold sweat, her mouth tasted like vomit, and she could still smell Pansy on herself. So she clumsily pulled herself from her bedroom floor and guided herself through the dimly lit tent to the bathroom where she turned the shower on as hot as it would go. Steam filled the room, opened her pores, and she scrubbed until her skin was red and raw. She brushed her teeth so that her gums bled. It almost helped. Just enough so that when she returned to her room to get dressed she could remind herself of the significance of this day. Today was Game Day.</p><p>In the middle of that thought, several owls came rushing through her window. They hooted and ruffled her wings around her, all trying to be the first to win her attention. In a haze she reached for the first letter.</p><p>
  <i>”To the betrayer of public trust,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>YOU and Spinnet have ruined all MY FAITH in quidditch players. YOU have decided, by publicly displaying your pathological attraction to women, to RUIN the devotion your fans have lovingly given you. This DISGUSTING atrocity is an insult to Harpy fans across the country--”</i>
</p><p>Immediately Ginny threw the offensive letter in the bin before opening a second. This second owl was pecking aggressively at her arm and she obliged it’s insisticance.</p><p>
  <i>”The name Ginny Weasley had become a toxin in my home. We have two impressionable daughters and how do you think they will react to hearing about your ‘lifestyle’? Alicia Spinnet is losing the support of England right as we’ve made our way to the World Cup. How disrespectful-” </i>
</p><p>Ginny tossed this second letter into the bin, but a third owl was hopping joyfully in front of her. Enticed by the hope of adoring fan support, Ginny opened a third letter.</p><p><i>”You make me sick. I have been a longtime fan of yours but will no longer support any of your future endeavors. If you begin to play quidditch again, I will boycott all your games. I have written to your agent as well and plan to “</i>--Ginny stopped skimming the letter, but as her hands started to burn painfully the letter regained her attention.<i> “--in this letter I have sent a curse so that you feel the same burn of betrayal that affects all of your morally upstanding fanbase…”</i></p><p>Ginny dropped the curse letter and swore in pain. A huge blister had spread across her hands, burning straight down to the flesh of her thumb. The thumb that had opened the letter. Tears were springing, unbidden, to her eyes and she dropped the letter to the bin to join the first two. This was every type of pain. She reached for her wand and uttered a charm to expel all the owls from the tent. </p><p>The feathered animals simultaneously dropped letters around her room, some on the floor, some on the dresser, and several falling to rest on the tangled sheets of her bed. They then left Ginny alone with piles of her hate mail.</p><p>Taking a deep breath she Locomotored the envelopes all to her bin which she quickly set aflame. The excess of paper revealed several curses as they sparkled and popped.</p><p>She cast a magical cooling charm, which eased the pain from the burning letter. Ginny knew it was going to leave a scar. She allowed herself one moment of self pity before using a deep, slow, breath to bring her strength back. </p><p>Today was the Game, and she needed to be ready.  A burnt hand and bruised heart were no excuse to fall apart. Deep down she had expected a negative public reaction. Famous athletes don’t come out as gay without their fans throwing a bit of hate at them. She reminded herself that it wasn’t personal... and that while angry people sent letters, she must still have thousands of fans who didn’t care. But the shame that lingered from her nightmare definitely wasn’t soothed by this public backlash. Maybe by 2020 people would have moved on. She hoped so. Or at least maybe by 2030.</p><p>Today was the World Cup, and then there would be only two more days in this tent. And Ginny had survived far worse. It was only a couple more days.</p><p>***</p><p>“Vivaldi’s Spring” blares out of the alarm clock but I’m already awake and staring at the slanted canvas ceiling of my room. I let it sing for a moment, feeling dull and hardly noticing. <i>This is so fucking wrong</i> Ginny had said. Well. Fuck.</p><p>But it’s an important day, and I’m not here to make Ginny Weasley like me. I’m here as a journalist. I’m here to tell the world something important, and I can’t do that if I’m acting like a kicked puppy. I guess it’s just… Ginny doesn’t seem like the kind to love ‘em and leave ‘em. But then again, I don’t really know her that well. </p><p>I feel a tiny bit nauseous and dizzy and so wait to take my coffee and morning potion, opting to let my hangover drought kick in first.</p><p>I’m hoping that I don’t run into her in our living room when I go to the bathroom to wash up. There’s no sign of her save for the fact the bathroom is full of steam. As I let last night’s dress fall to the tiled floor and step into the warm water I imagine her in here just before me. It’s like I can almost still feel her fingers inside of me… I just now realize that I’d been hoping to shower together.</p><p>I enjoy the water washing over the bruise on the back of my thighs from where she pushed me against the counter. Who knows? Ginny’s feisty. I like that about her. She’s crazy like me and she’ll likely get over whatever spooked her this morning. </p><p>I charm my hair dry and smooth, apply dramatic, yet sophisticated makeup and dress in the robes I’d picked out last week for Game Day. After a large cup of coffee, forcedly swallowed toast, and a small pep talk I leave the tent and walk to the stadium alone. </p><p>As planned, I’ll be in the Top Box over an hour early so I can report on the Very Important People as they arrive at the game. After climbing the tall staircases to get to the top I applaud myself for adding the extra energy to my coffee and having hangover drought ready and available. When I step into the box only a handful of excited Quidditch fans are there, along with Rita Skeeter, who is already on the prowl. Ginny sits in the back row -a good place if you want to be able to observe the spectators who would soon be joining us. </p><p>I stride over to her and she jumps and slides away from me when I sit down. She refuses to look at me and so I follow her lead and keep my eyes on the empty pitch. </p><p>“Jumpy much?” I ask her. She doesn’t respond and after a quick assessing glance I see that she’s very pale. Sighing, I reach into my robes. For some reason this also makes her twitch, but I don’t let it affect me and follow through by pulling out a small vial and offering it out to her.</p><p>“Hangover drought,” I tell her. “You look like you need it.”</p><p>She doesn’t answer, just keeps her puffy eyes looking straight ahead. </p><p>“If you feel at all like I did this morning, then you’ll definitely want some,” I try again.</p><p>She looks at the potion suspiciously and then looks at me. For the first time, our eyes meet. Before I can read her expression however, she stands up. I lower my hand, still grasping the potion. She really does look awful, I can’t imagine why she doesn’t want it.</p><p>“I’m going to sit in the front,” she tells me, looking just off to the side of me. “It’ll be easier to see the players.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“You stay here,” she continued. “You’ll want to keep an eye on the Ministers and famous people.”</p><p>“Well, obviously.” For Christ sake, the woman is acting like I killed Arnold IV and turned him into a hacky sack. She doesn’t hear me when I mutter, “by all means, don’t move on account of me…”</p><p>As she walks away, my disgruntlement grows and I’m tempted to shout out to her that the whole idea behind a Top Box, is that every seat has a great view of the stadium. Watching her go down the steps to the front of the box it occurs to me that she didn’t want to drink any potion I could give her. The nerve. One day she’s giggling, and kissing, and squeezing my head between her thighs and the next she’s yelling at me for no reason and expecting me to poison her in broad daylight.</p><p>I force my attention away from the back of her ginger head as people fill the stands. I try to make myself inconspicuous as I jot down the names of the Ambassadors, Ministers, wealthy sports fans, and various other people who have won a spot up here. The Malfoys unfortunately won’t make an appearance considering the fall of their good name, but there are plenty of other high society purebloods in the mix, and I jot their names down with easy familiarity. I’m glad I’ve done my research when it comes to all the foreign politicians, because there are a lot. </p><p>Harry Potter and Kinglsey Shacklebolt enter together, which I make quick note of. I’m curious if I’ll find a story there, but wonder what Ginny would do if I threw more unwanted publicity at the bespeckled Savior. After the past couple hours however, I doubt whether she could possibly hate me more. </p><p>Hecate, that witch is insane. We had fun last night, and while I wasn’t expecting a marriage proposal or something… My mind veers in the other direction: maybe the problem is she’s not insane enough. Perhaps she’s just finally getting over that lapse in sanity that had her interested in me to begin with. Guilt pricks at my gut when I wonder if in my equally inebriated state I had misjudged the validity of her consent. She had certainly seemed enthusiastic...</p><p> I cut off those lines of thinking when Minister Marta Huerta enters the top box and goes to kiss Shacklebolt’s cheek in greeting, also shaking his hand. To my surprise she is accompanied by a gaggle of important looking Goblins, all of whom shake hands with Shacklebolt with skeptical looks on their faces. Two tall, imposing, uniformed wizards flank Huerta on either side making her look comically short. She’s shorter than me but she takes up space with her round, smiling face and small expressive hands. </p><p>Despite Huerta’s jolly disposition she’s indescribably intimidating; more so than her body guards. I can tell even from a distance that her handshake is firm as she greets Potter with a kiss as well. It tickles me that Potter is showing off his truly English awkwardness; face bright red when she notices his scar. Her smirk is barely perceptible as she speaks to him in what is presumably Spanish, clearly knowing he can’t understand a word. I bet that if she’d gone to Hogwarts, she would’ve been in Slytherin. The thought makes me smile for half a second before Ginny swishes her hair at the front of the stands and my throat burns. I swallow and grit my teeth. Merlin Pansy, get it together.</p><p>A short and enthusiastic man about five meters away from me pointed his wand at his throat to cast Sonorous.</p><p>“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! I WELCOME YOU NOW TO THE 2007 QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!” </p><p>Merlin that’s loud. I resist the urge to rub my temples. The crowd cheers; the energy in the stadium is huge. I almost wonder if my potions will be enough to get me through this. Hell, maybe the game will be short. Ginny told me a couple days ago that the shortest World Cup had only lasted three and a half seconds. I’m praying for a new record. </p><p>I keep my quill to parchment, recording every reaction. Patil and I talked in depth about the mascots and how I might use them to provide deeper insight to our national communities. When the Chilean mascot comes out even thoughts of Ginny leave my mind. </p><p>The Peuchens start as flying snakes, terrifying and to any snake lover in the crowd including myself, absolutely beautiful. They shapeshift into colorful song birds, cheerfully singing before diving down towards shrieking fans as aggressive hawks. They just miss the stands and hit the ground just in time to become a herd of horses that gallop around the pitch before all becoming various types of exotic animals, ranging from elephants to erumpents, from tentacled marmites to dolphins that flip through the air. Ginny was like a dolphin last night but more closely resembles an enraged veela today. If only I could change form so easily. </p><p>In contrast, the English mascot is a ferocious dragon that leaves me less inspired. Many fans are terrified, but after watching the Triwizard Tournament I mostly feel sorry for the poor creature. Thick chains are clasped around it’s legs and dozens of tiny white wizards struggle to keep it under control. </p><p>Every few minutes my eyes betray me and wander to stare at the back of the head of a girl with whom I wish I could commiserate. It’s lonely, watching the game alone. But I remind myself: I’m not here to watch the game. I’m working. </p><p>I overhear two English Wizards from the Wizengamot discussing Kingsley’s shortcomings as a Minister. Personally, I think he’s fairly capable, but I recognize that he’s more progressive than these pureblood politicians approve of. My parents, for example, think he’s not even an English citizen, but rather a foreign-born infiltrator from Niger.</p><p>Eavesdropping on them keeps me occupied for a long while before I position myself closer to the Goblins who had shook Minister Huerta’s hand earlier. I note that some of them are English whereas others are Chilean. A Goblin perspective on wizarding sport? I wonder if anyone besides myself would be interested as I listen in.</p><p>This game is definitely not going to make a record for the shortest game ever. I don’t know much about the sport itself, but I think these seekers must be seriously slacking. Only once did either of them dive for the snitch, but even I noticed the elusive golden ball fluttering at one point. The sun passes high overhead and I buy a plate of loaded chili chips for lunch. </p><p>As the light starts to warm with evening dinner menus appear all around us. The referee has ruled over a dozen fouls and still these star seekers fly around aimlessly, apparently oblivious to their purpose. Submitting to the fact that the game may not end soon I tap my wand on the paper menu and declare “quinoa patties” so that I can pick at a rather unextraordinary plate of overcooked veggies and insufficiently salted quinoa cakes. That’s what I get for choosing the healthy option. Ginny, I see, opted for fish and chips. It looks considerably more appetizing… wait, no, that’s just the witch that’s eating them. The fish and chips look limp and kind of soggy.</p><p>“My lord,” says a posh witch next to me. “One would expect a more fulfilling Top Box menu. I’m shocked they didn’t hire Parkinson’s Catering. Though we all knew that the Ministry has cheap taste.”</p><p>They’re right, and the martini i order is sub-par. </p><p>“AND IT’S 160 TO 140 TO ENGLAND!” The commentator’s voice calls out as the sun twinkles off below the horizon. I personally didn’t get enough rest for this long of a game, but most people in the stands are riveted. The stadium lights glow bright into the night, cheers and boos filling the steadily darkening sky. </p><p>“And they said these seekers were both supposed to be outstanding,” I overheard the French Ambassador tell his wife in their native language. “But I have to admit I didn’t expect much from those Third World thugs.”</p><p>My quill scratches aggressively on parchment, but as midnight nears several of the most important people to eavesdrop on have returned to their tents. By 2am the exhausted looking athletes stumble away to trade spots with their reserves. I don’t take my blue evening potion and opt for a WakeUp Drought instead, and a nice cup of coffee. By 6am the audience has depleted so that only young diehards remain to cheer and chant with hoarse voices. At 8am I recognize that even my second and third waves of stimulant potions are doing no more than making my hands shake. The adorable ginger witch in the front row has fallen asleep, tipped sideways onto the bench, hair dipping into a carelessly open ink bottle.</p><p>She’s not alone: Potter has conked out next to her, his glasses falling off his face. There are several other dozing fans around us, one wizard even summoned a cot and full bed settings. I’m pretty sure I’d have a mind healer scolding me for breaking my fragile circadian rhythms.</p><p>Fuck <i>this</i>. It’s time to go back to the tent. We’ll have to get somebody up to tap out with Ginny, but considering that there’s no international figures, let alone a compelling political story, I’m really not needed.</p><p>I pack up my work and stifle a yawn. I consider leaving her to drool on herself until Mr Gibble or somebody is able to relieve her, but early birds fans are returning to the stands after a night’s sleep and I’m sure waking up to the roar of England scoring another goal would be quite jarring. I stand up to go wake her. This is her last opportunity to play nice.</p><p>“Hey, Ginny,” I gently shake her shoulder, just barely resisting the vindictive urge to pour water over her sleeping head. I’m also resisting the urge to stroke her hair. “We’re going back to the tent and telling the Prophet we need some reinforcements.”</p><p>She blearily looks up at me, then upon registering who she’s looking at jerks awake.</p><p>“What do you want Parkinson?” she demands. “Can’t you see I’m trying to work?”</p><p>I laugh derisively and say, “Certainly, it must be hard work, looking as unprofessional as you do right now.”</p><p>Her eyes are narrowing and her jaw is tight so I hurry to detonate the Weasley bomb.</p><p>“Come on, let’s just go get some beauty sleep.” </p><p>“I’m not sleeping with you.” </p><p>“Presumptuous much?” It’s lucky the stands around us are pretty empty. “I’m not too bothered, Weasley. You’re nothing special.  Let’s go.”</p><p>“You go,” she says, cold as ice. “Somebody has to keep an eye on the game in case something happens.”</p><p>So I go. Professionalism prompts my pint-sized innate benevolence so I floo Patil to send somebody to relieve Weasley. I down my blue potion and crumble into my bed, too tired to feel anything. </p><p>***</p><p>The game went on through the day and Mr Gibble showed up around 9:00am to usher Ginny to bed. He told her she should be prepared to come back to switch out with him at 5pm. It was with great relief that Ginny didn’t see her tentmate before going to sleep or after waking up. </p><p>Two unbelievably uneventful days passed without any sight of the snitch. Ginny successfully managed to not see Parkinson as well. Reserve players all got time up in the sky and Ginny was glad to say that Alicia was doing a bang up job. Ginny really missed her friend. Wished that she was flying with her instead of watching and sharing a tent with somebody she felt sick just looking at. Sick with shame, regret, and still a toxic droplet of desire. </p><p>As the seekers continued to struggle, Ginny could tell that whatever snitch smith had forged this little bit of gold had done a bit too good of a job. Ginny itched to interview the seekers, but the players were either sleeping or on a broom -or at one point sleeping <i>on</i> a broom. That’s how a bludger cracked the skull of the English keeper on their third day. </p><p>“AND SPINNET SCORES!” narrates the announcer, on the third day of the match, “THAT’S 900/840 TO CHILE!”</p><p>Ginny wrote a strongly worded opinion piece on the quality of these seekers but was pretty sure Gibble would have to edit it down to half its word count.</p><p>On the fourth day of the match Gaby stood in to assist Parkinson by taking their game presence in turns. Other journalists frequented their floo network to allow Parkinson to observe politicians outside of the stadium. The steady traffic in and out of their tent helped to keep their living room more or less tension free. Ginny was relieved not to see Pansy strutting around in her miniscule pyjamas. The only moments when they were together they were thankfully accompanied by their colleagues or crowds of Top Boxers. </p><p>On the fifth day Ginny didn’t see Pansy at all. The seekers saw the snitch once, but it got away.</p><p>Day six was when Harry finally pulled himself out of his generally preoccupied mind in order to notice the dramatic change in Pansy and Ginny’s relationship.</p><p>“Hey,” he said to her while the second wave of reserve players fumbled with the quaffle, “did something happen with you and Pansy?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Ginny said, panicked.</p><p>“Just,” he continued with a shrug, “you two seemed pretty buddy-buddy at your coming out party but now you’re acting like you’re still at war.”</p><p>“Well,” Ginny hesitated, twisting a strand of messy red hair, “maybe we still are at war.”</p><p>“Damn, I sure hope not.”</p><p>Reading the shadow behind Harry’s green eyes Ginny linked her arm around his elbow and leaned her head briefly against his familiar shoulder.</p><p>“No Harry,” Ginny said with an unspoken apology, “I guess it’s just that I remembered that Parkinson isn’t somebody I can have more than a summer-camp one week friendship with.”</p><p>“Right.” Harry narrowed his eyes and assessed the people surrounding them, keeping an eye out for unresolved mysteries. “Why do you reckon this game is lasting so long anyways? I thought Bravo was supposed to be really good.”</p><p>“He is really good!” Ginny agreed. </p><p>“Suspicious,” Harry continued. “Do you get a strange vibe from those Chilean Goblins? Or those bodyguards? I told Kingsley we ought to have more Aurors up here.”</p><p>Ginny recognized Harry’s commitment to Constant Vigilance and considered that maybe the War <i>wouldn’t</i> ever truly end. Not for them. Not even so many years later.</p><p>Day seven saw the seeker Bravo become one with a bludger. His ribs were completely shattered.</p><p>On the eighth day the Weasleys were allowed to join Ginny and Harry in the Top Box considering how many people were choosing to take frequent breaks from the game. The food continued to be awful and so Molly had brought homemade shepherd's pie. </p><p>“ALICIA SPINNET SCORES AGAIN, BRILLIANT USE OF THE WOOLLONGONG SHIMMY!”</p><p>“There you go, Ginny,” Ron says, mouth full of mashed potatoes. “Your girlfriend scores again! And this time with a Quaffle.”</p><p>Hermione face palms while Ginny kicks Ron in the shin. “She’s not my girlfriend, dunderhead.”</p><p>“No,” Ron teases, rubbing his leg. “She’s your lesbian lover.”</p><p>The ‘L’s rolled off his tongue so that it sounded like ‘Lllllllllesbian Llllovvvverr.’ Ginny hoped his shin bruised badly but catching her mother’s eye decided to take the higher ground.</p><p>“I’ve told you before, Ron,” she said, intending for her mother to hear her, “I’m not a lesbian. Sure, sometimes I like women, but sometimes I also like people who aren’t women. We’ve been over this.”</p><p>“Technicalities lil’ sis,” Ron shrugged, invoking an involuntary eye roll. </p><p>“Why, Ginny!” Arthur exclaimed, dropping his omnioculars, “I didn’t know you’re attracted to witches!”</p><p>“Well,” Ginny shrugged defiantly, “I am.” She remembered something Parkinson had said once. “Although I imagine I would like muggle women as well.</p><p>“You know,” he continued with the same voice that he used to talk about electricity, “Your Aunt Anne lived with a woman her whole life. She lived to be 118, so I suppose it was a healthy lifestyle choice.”</p><p>“Oh shush, Arthur,” Molly scolded. “The only lifestyle choice that helped Aunt Anne live to that age is that she ate a lot of butter and stayed away from firewhisky.”</p><p>“I do love butter,” Ginny nodded, mocking seriousness. “Maybe that should’ve been an early warning sign that I would sometimes fancy ladies.”</p><p>“Well, restaurants tend to over butter their food,” George added thoughtfully. “And I’ve heard that lesbians eat out a lot.”</p><p>“Do they really?” Arthur inquired, eyes lit up, “But Ginny, we never took you out to eat very much growing up.”</p><p>(“SEPULVIDA SHOOTS AAAAND SHE SCORES!” Bill, Charlie, Harry, and Ron throw out a half-hearted “boooo!”)</p><p>“Yes, well,” Molly said briskly, smiling at her only daughter, “I’ve always fed all my children lots of butter.”</p><p>“That would explain our deep respect and fondness for the fairer sex,” Bill nodded, sagely.</p><p>“So here,” Molly grabbed Ginny’s plate to heap it with a generous second helping of shepherd's pie, “you’d better eat up.”</p><p>When she handed Ginny the plate she winked conspiratorially and Ginny felt her heart surge with warmth.</p><p>The game didn’t end that day. Nor the next. </p><p>Every morning more hatemail came, a charmingly painful greeting from homophobic witches and wizards. Every morning Ginny became better and better at her banishing charms on owls and incendios on letters. Those assholes couldn’t even begin to faze her. She was too strong, too brave. A few times she got a supportive letter -it surprised her how people are so much more likely to write in anger than in appreciation. It bothered her less and less now though, knowing that the people who mattered the most supported her. </p><p>The crowd was restless but continually enthusiastic as the days stretched on without the seekers catching the snitch. Some people were hoping for a new record for the longest game in history, but considering that would be a three month long World Cup, Ginny thought they were all being prematurely optimistic. </p><p>By day 14 the Top Box resembled something more like a socialite party that lasted all night and made way for mimosas at sunrise. Most politicians were not able to take time away from their duties and so the Top Box frequenters were more likely than not to be those who live a life of leisure. The food drastically improved and Ginny had no idea how or why.</p><p>Ginny herself was growing weary. Weary of avoiding her roommate and sharing unavoidable moments of sharp tension as they ate breakfast at 4:30pm. Ginny had taken to eating dinner in her bedroom. Now, Ginny wasn’t completely oblivious and cold hearted. She understood that perhaps it was unkind to give Pansy the cold shoulder without any explanation. However, the nightmares were not easing up at all, but instead seemed to be getting worse now that Ginny was distancing herself from Pansy.</p><p>Pansy didn’t act at all phased by the abrupt change in Ginny’s opinion of her. She was more confidently independent than ever, completely focused on her work. Draco, Daphne, Blaise et. al. continued to visit sometimes, but Ginny would just determinedly scoop up Arnold IV and retreat to her room. It took a lot, sometimes, to ignore the expressions of loathing that they sent her way. Their opinions didn’t matter, obviously, but even Draco had never glared at her with this much loathing. It was unsettling. </p><p>Arnold IV seemed determined to warm up the mood though. More than once Ginny walked into the tent to see Pansy stroking his tummy, or him rolling around on her shoulders, just skimming the bottom of her hair. Stupid Pygmy Puff and his skewed sense of loyalty.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <i>										May 10th, 2007</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dear Pansy,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I hope this finds you well. I’m sure this excessively long-lasting World Cup will be wonderful for your journalist career and I do hope you are taking full advantage of the situation. I’m writing, however, to offer parental advice on the matter of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt. Your article that I read in the Prophet this morning was dangerously supportive of the man’s radical choices. While I appreciated his legislation to rid Azkaban of dementorsI approve of nothing else.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You perhaps have been thinking that to gain favor with the Minister would help to increase our social influence, but you are mistaken. An election is coming up and your father and I foresee Shacklebolt losing by a wide margin. It would be wiser to support his rising competition and honor the conservative values we’ve always instilled in you.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>On a more positive note, Narcissa and I have decided on juliet roses for your bridal bouquet. More good news is that our catering business was invited to serve for the Top Box following many complaints about Fergisson’s Food. Absolute no surprise that those mudblood loving line cooks were poorly received. We may make an appearance to assess how our far superior employees are doing. Let us know if they serve you any food that is subpar.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Best regards,<br/>
Goneril Parkinson</i>
</p><p>I light a corner of the letter on fire and watch lazily as the fine parchment burns. The only worthwhile thing to say is that yes, the food has certainly improved. My response is brief and my cursive is flawless.</p><p>***</p><p>Day 15 found Ginny having her first full evening off thanks to the addition of more journalists.  She decided to spend the evening painting flower pots with Luna on her bedroom floor. The relief from Quidditch and the comfort of Luna’s company overrode her ambivalence toward craft projects. </p><p>Ginny was beginning to really embrace her trite and poorly blended flowers as Luna’s elaborate illustrations of mythical beasts were far beyond competition. Every so often she glanced at the watercolor that remained tacked above her bed. The way Pansy had painted Ginny’s hair to whip so beautifully across her face bothered Ginny with conflicting emotions. She couldn’t bring herself to take it down. Not yet.</p><p> Pansy was off doing something and wouldn’t be back to the tent until after Ginny went to bed. The two of them had taken to marking off a large calendar in the kitchenette to communicate when they would or wouldn’t be in the tent. Despite the planned avoidance of each other, Ginny preferred to stay in her room. That couch where Ginny had sat with all the Slytherins... the window seat where Pansy and her had spilled secrets and brushed legs...the table where they’d eaten together… the counter on which they’d fucked. </p><p>Ginny couldn’t stand to be out there anymore. The complicated feelings triggered by spending extra there were twice as bothersome as those brought up by the watercolor.</p><p>“Nargles get you?” Luna asked sweetly, her head tilted to one side and a paintbrush.</p><p>“Not nargles,” Ginny sighed, looking up from her botched flowers. “I was right. Pansy has driven me crazy.” </p><p>“I see,” Luna nodded. “Well, we did hypothesize that Pansy would drive you crazy. And crazy is as crazy does, so maybe you’ll learn something from a sudden and temporary madness.”</p><p>Ginny doubted that but let Luna continue.</p><p>“Rolf, too, is as crazy as a Humdinging Swamp Bird,” she said, eyes full of hearts. “He’s driving me mad.”</p><p>“Madly in love, you mean,” Ginny ruffled her crazy friend’s hair and mustered up some happiness for Luna’s abundant love life. Jealousy was laced in there a little, but Ginny tried not to let it get to her.</p><p>“I suppose that Pansy isn’t always the nice side of crazy. She can be rather unkind… although markedly less so the past few times I’ve seen her,” Luna said, for some reason sad. “Has she hurt you?”</p><p>“Not recently, no…” Ginny contemplated telling Luna everything. For over two weeks the shameful secret has probably started to form a stomach ulcer.</p><p>“What happened?” Luna’s unabashed and non judgemental question allowed Ginny to say it.</p><p>“We… Merlin Luna. We had sex.”</p><p>“Was it nice?” Luna asked, soft eyebrows lifted. </p><p>“Oh… I guess. At the time it was fantastic. Sloppy and somewhat rushed, but yeah,” Ginny sighed. “But the next day, I just felt horrible. I just started remembering everything. Everything she did.”</p><p>“Things she’s done this spring or things she did when we were children trying to survive a war?”</p><p>This stumped Ginny for a moment.</p><p>“Oh I don’t know. She’s just…”</p><p>“Lovely?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Lovely.”</p><p>“Well I was going to say something along the lines of spiteful, vain, selfish, narcissistic, awful--”</p><p>“You said, at the party, that she was lovely,” Luna gently interrupted. “But perhaps that was the body glitter talking?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ginny hurredly agreed. “Definitely the body glitter. Right. So. I think I’m nearly done with these flowers, what do you think?”</p><p>For herself, Ginny thought the flowers looked like a small child had painted them.</p><p>“Hmm…” Luna tapped her chin with a paintbrush, leaving blue streaks on her face. “I love the lush textures. Very youthful. Maybe a bit more green? It’s the color of growth, and I think it would really help those flowers blossom.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>But hey, at least it was a long one, right? Give me some love please &lt;3 I promise it won't stay all angsty forever</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. "running from change only changed me faster"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Look at me and my frequent updates!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The 61 year old pug nosed witch and her domineering husband swoop in like well-dressed predatory hawks as I leave the Top Box for the evening. I’m tired and want to hide in my room, pretending not to look at Ginny as she eats a 6pm breakfast. These two predatory hawks demand parental authority though, so I allow them to guide me to a silk tent surrounded by a powerfully aromatic flower garden. Inside is the picture of antique luxury.</p><p>Hard wood furniture compliments the crystal chandelier and somehow they’ve managed to find a tent with cold marble floors. While Lucius Malfoy had been an outright Death Eater and his house was raided for dark artifacts, my family always maintained a safe distance from any traceable criminal offense. </p><p>As such, there are dark artifacts lining shelves proudly: Dark Arts books, human bones, evil looking masks. Atop an enchanted mirror stands two ornate silver goblets, both engraved with the letter ‘P’ and one of which Pansy knew for a fact was fatally cursed: the Goblets of Malum. Equally as charming as the Sphere of Hopelessness on the goblet’s left side. A deadly potion stands like Jackal next to a frothy blue Hyde.</p><p>Overall, the tent felt just like home.</p><p>“You look tired,” Goneril Parkinson, tells me. She pulls out a skin potion full of crushed diamonds, and hands it to me. Her expression tells me that if I don’t apply it to the circles under my eyes immediately she’ll smudge it on me herself. So I acquiesce and dab the cream gently on my face. She’s almost approving.</p><p>“How have you been, Pansy?” Iago Parkinson asks, hinting at fondness but withholding any real warmth.</p><p>“I’ve been well, thank you for asking.”</p><p>“I really wish you wouldn’t paint your fingernails such a drab color,” my mother tsks, examining my cuticles. Those at least seem to be perfectly manicured. “Really darling, black looks defiant and is sophomoric besides.”</p><p>Maybe I <i>am</i> defiant. And sophomoric my ass, black is <i>classic. </i></p><p>“Thank you for your feedback, mother.” I smile blandly at her. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll go for a pretty pale pink.”</p><p>I can tell that my father is bored already with this ‘feminine chatter.’ So am I. Though it’s masochistic, I legitimately wish I was with Weasley. The extreme tension when I’m with her is more comfortable than this. Ginny, at least, has good reason to despise me and is authentic and open about it.</p><p>But my father pours us all fine scotch on the rocks and we sit together on stiff leather furniture. Mostly we listen to my father wax on about his authoritative opinions of foreign policy. This is an especially pleasurable experience because he knows absolutely nothing about it. That doesn’t stop him from explaining it to us like we’ve never even seen a world map.</p><p>“You could never hope to understand this like your father, <i>mon lapit,</i>” my mother tells me. “Sometimes you concern me with how you believe all sorts of modern tosh.”</p><p>“Oh Goneril,” my father sighs. “You know the girl struggles with matters of intellect.”</p><p>“Of course,” warning flashes at me through my mother’s eyes. “Remember when you received a ‘Poor’ on your History of Magic OWL?”</p><p>How could I possibly forget. She reminds me at least five times a year.</p><p>“Now, Goneril, don’t interrupt me again,” my father scolds, “I am explaining the success of mudblood control in Northwest China. Why the Koreans have so much trouble about it I will never understand.”</p><p>“Did you hear about how rapidly the Korean won is increasing in value?” I chime in, very subtly goading him. “They say it will outstrip our English galleon within the month.”</p><p>“Well, actually,” sniffs my father, “there has never been and never will be anything stronger than the English galleon…”</p><p>I allow him to continue mansplaining. If I were to try to chime in he would scold me for interrupting and it would only spur him to harangue on longer. While he talks, a perfect little memory pops into my mind: Grandmother, winking covertly at me from across the foyer. In my mind, she orders me to my room where she’ll have had the house elves leave out treats and new toys for me. A second fantasy pops invasively into my mind: me, holding hands with Ginny Weasley and introducing her to Grandmother. In my mind they get along instantly, one fiery woman meeting another fiery woman.</p><p>In real life he finally begins to lose steam and there’s space for me to say a couple words. I excuse myself with the claims of needing my beauty sleep. My mother, (changed somewhat after downing scotch as my father droned on) embraces me and kisses me on either cheek.</p><p>“Oh, <i>mon lapit</i>,” she says, voice full of stevia-like sweetness. “You’re always beautiful when you take care to present yourself properly.”</p><p>My father stands to escort me the ten feet to the door while my mother sips her scotch from her chair and bids me farewell with a Queen’s wave. </p><p>"Make sure to let us know if any of the caterers don't perform to our standards," she says scornfully. "We allowed some of our employees to work for the previous catering company, but upon hearing about the poor quality of the food we simply had to step in. We wouldn't want our only daughter eating such fatty, unhealthy food."</p><p>"Of course, mother."</p><p>“We’re so very proud of you,” she says. “Our little girl. I hope you know that.”</p><p>This abrupt tenderness soothes me though I know it ought to enrage me. I just can’t help it. Her judgement scrubs at me like steel wool just so that her praise can be the remedy. Cooling as aloe and smooth as shea butter.</p><p>“Yes, you are just the perfect daughter, Pansy. This is for you.” My father holds out a white box that I open with care. Inside is a long silver chain holding a precious green jewel. I can’t breathe for a second. He gives me a gift like this every other time I see him -about three times a year. He kisses me on the forehead and opens the tent door for me. </p><p>As I walk down the wooded path to the tent I muse to myself: it makes sense that I would be unwisely attracted to somebody who plays me hot and cold. I’ve been especially raised for whiplash.</p><p>***</p><p>Ginny left the pitch as the sun rose, her messenger bag overflowing with parchments that detailed every maneuver of an overall uneventful night of International Quidditch. When Rita Skeeter fell in line with Ginny’s long strides, Ginny didn’t bother to acknowledge her. Perhaps if Ginny ignored her she would go away, like a scab or a pimple.</p><p>“So lovely to see you again,” said Skeeter.</p><p>She didn’t grace Skeeter with a response. </p><p>“Extraordinary game, isn’t it?” Skeeter tried again. “I’m sure that you and Miss Parkinson must be getting a lot of good stories out of it. I know I am.”</p><p>When she said Pansy’s name Ginny tripped over a root. Skeeter reached out to steady her with talon fingers, but Ginny shoved her away and kept walking. </p><p>“Oh yes.” Skeeter kept up with Ginny’s pace. “I heard a little whisper… you and Parkinson have really started to bond, haven’t you?”</p><p>“No. Absolutely not.” Ginny stopped abruptly and raised her wand to point it into Skeeter’s face. What had she heard? From where? No, it didn’t matter. “You and your cheap charade at journalism needs to stay the hell away from me.”</p><p>When Skeeter smiled venomously, Ginny took a step toward her and lowered her wand to press it against the other witch’s neck. Guess this pimple needed popping after all.</p><p>“You cross me again and you won’t just have me to answer to,” Ginny threatened. “Hermione Granger? Harry Potter? My endless army of brothers? Just back off.”</p><p>At the drop of Hemione’s name Skeeter’s face paled and she stepped back. </p><p>“Oh dear Ginny,” she said, smiling and trying to mask a quavering voice, “I came as a friend. I never meant any harm--”</p><p>“No,” Ginny countered, lowering her wand. “You only ever mean harm. Now get out of my face.”</p><p>Ginny left without looking back. As she walked, she glanced at the tiny scar on her left thumb where that first unfiltered bit of hate mail had burned her. Unable to stop herself, she threw a hex over her shoulder which elicited a rather satisfying yelp from the stung muckraker. Ginny’s vindictive grin lasted her halfway through the forest.</p><p>Her destination changed from her bed to the tent where Mr Gibble and his family were staying. He would be leaving soon to replace Ginny the same way the third rung reserve athletes would replace those nighttime players. Hopefully Ginny would run into him during the recess. </p><p>Luckily, Mr Gibble was hobbling out of his tent right when Ginny came close enough to call out a greeting. Deep breathing and counting down from 30 during her walk seemed to have leveled out her physiological distress signals enough to grant her supervisor a congenial smile.</p><p>“Why, Ginny,” Mr Gibble grinned back at her and raised a shaking hand in greeting. “Any good news on the game?”</p><p>“Not really, sorry,” Ginny admitted. Although he hadn’t said it out loud Ginny knew they were both secretly wishing that those seekers would just catch the snitch already. Ideally it would end in a English victory, but Mr Gibble’s slumped shoulders betrayed his private apathy. </p><p>Ginny continued: “The score is up to 2000/1400 to England though, and I think Chile has decided to delay the end of the game until they have a shot to win. Their beaters have become increasingly aggressive -rightfully so- but I think that England is on their sixth seeker now, the first five setting up repeated residence in the medi-tent. But that’s not what I came to speak with you about.”</p><p>“No?” Mr Gibble sighed and leaned on his cane. “What can I help you with?”</p><p>“Well,” now that Ginny was no longer talking about Quidditch she felt a bit lost. “It’s just, we’ve had more journalists coming in and out through our floo network frequently to help take shifts covering a never ending match. I was wondering if maybe we should add some extra rooms to our tent to make room for people to stay here? </p><p>Now for the next part that Ginny was most anxious to propose: “Or maybe I could move into a new tent with somebody else and Parkinson could get a new partner to take my place.”</p><p>“Hm, well, I don’t know, it’s already set up for Brocklehurst and Greig to share a tent on the east side of the forest… they’ll be bringing all their things this weekend. Miss Delacour and I are already set up with our families. It doesn’t really seem very practical.”</p><p>“Of course,” Ginny gave her best Gracious Grin, “however, things are somewhat tense in our tent, and maybe you ought to check with Ms Patil about a potential rearrangement?”</p><p>“Oh dear, Miss Weasley,” he said, alarmed. “Did Parkinson do something?”</p><p>“No, no,” Ginny said with guilt, “nothing like that. She shouldn’t get in trouble, not really… I just. I think we’d work more effectively separately.”</p><p>“I see,” Mr Gibble’s alarm dissipated. Now he wouldn’t look Ginny in the face and it was starting to piss her off. “I’ll see what I can do. Now, I really ought to get off to the game. It’s not going to watch it itself, will it?”</p><p>Ginny hoped the steam coming from her hot ears was merely metaphorical. <i>‘I’ll see what I can do,” </i>clearly translated to <i>“I couldn’t care less.”</i> Those words reeked of somebody with privilege pretending to respect an ‘inferior’. </p><p>“Talk to Ms Patil,” Ginny said, narrowing her eyes. “She’ll understand that people don’t make suggestions like this lightly.”</p><p>“Yes, yes,” Mr Gibble replied. “Go get some rest, you must need it. Tomson will observe most of the night. Maybe one of these quidditch stars will live up to their names and the game will end before your round. Have a nice rest.”</p><p>He turned and walked away and it was only Ginny’s desire to keep her job that stopped her from jinxing him. That and his cane. And her intense exhaustion. Long 14 hours of watching mediocre Quidditch was not what she had dreamed of for the World Cup. The game was her one true love, but 14 hours was a long time to watch little flying people play with their balls. And that was just today. Who knows how many hours she’d watched since the start of the match.</p><p>When Ginny returned to their tent, Pansy’s stupid alarm clock was singing it’s obnoxious little song. Wanting to pull her hair out, she burst through Pansy’s door to curse the wretched thing into silence. Then she saw Pansy asleep in her bed. Her hips and waist were wrapped up in blankets, but her teddy was pulled down to reveal all the milky skin just above her nipples. Her bare legs lay careless in their elegance, and Ginny remembered the smooth feeling of her skin. She stood frozen in the doorway, layers of mixed reactions freezing the bottom of her converse to the floor.</p><p>“Well good morning to you too,” Pansy said sleepily as she sat up. Before Ginny could avert her eyes, Pansy caught her staring. She made no moves to cover herself.</p><p>Unable to respond, Ginny slammed the door closed and bolted to her warm safe bed. Gibble better get to talking to Patil soon, because she wasn’t sure if she could handle living with Pansy for another second. She thanked Merlin for her exhaustion, or else thoughts of Pansy’s frustratingly familiar body would’ve kept her up. Fantasies that were more like memories remained in her dreams.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <i>HUERTA CHALLENGES LATIN DOMINATED SPELLWORK</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Internationally famous seeker, Antinanco Bravo, gives surprisingly erudite insight. Before becoming an international Quidditch  star, Bravo lived modestly in the frigid southern Chile. He is not only athletic and charming, but he shared deep insight on how Colonialism and the language of magic live in constant conflict. A majority of the Englishmen might be shocked to learn that spellwork need not have classical origins. Celtic, Saxon, and many other sources of magic had been nearly eliminated in England, but the Indiginous spellwork in Chile lives strong. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Ailen Cayancura, Chilean and Mapuche Historian, travels to England for the Quidditch World Cup and critiques the Classical Supremacy that dominates English magic. She describes how in Chile Indigineous magic, though historically marginalized, Mapuche magical traditions are taught side by side in the schools Castelobruxo and La Academia de Magia en Santiago. (For a full exposé of Ailen Cayancura’s opinion, turn to pg D3). </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Accomplished witch and political activist, Lilen Malilla wrote in her book: “the once Mapuchen flag has become a symbol for all citizens of Chile, with their new outlets calling it the emblem of rebellion.” This applies not only to the regulations of Latin spellwork but also their reaction to years of dictatorship. This should encourage Brits to question why we only say “Lumos” when the ancient people of England would have incanted the Saxon spell:“Leoht”or the Celts “Eadrom.” Chilean Minister Marta Huerta has encouraged further educational reform…(story continued on pg D3)</i>
</p><p>Yes, yes, I know it’s a long article. Patil only just barely gave me the necessary word count. I know that most British Wizards and Witches won’t care but Patil seems to think there’s something there, and I agree. </p><p>It’s 9:00am on the 20th day of the game and my sleep cycle is so disjointed that morning grogginess has lost its meaning. I sit at our little table contemplating how many people will actually read my article. Not many people make it that far past the front page, but I hope they do this time. I’m sure most people who skim over my article haven’t ever noticed that the entire world isn’t the ancient Roman Empire. Fucking twats. </p><p>I hate people.</p><p>I’m drinking my third cup of coffee. Little orange and blue potions aside, these past couple weeks have worn at my fragile sense of stability. I can’t bring myself to eat, so my breakfast consisted of coffee and a cigarette. After breakfast I sit in the tiny kitchen and drink tea, wondering if Ginny will start putting flowers on the table again. It wouldn’t be the same if I did it. She will return to the tent in about 45 minutes, so I should probably leave in 40, even though I don’t have to be on site for another hour.</p><p>Unexpectedly, Mother Weasley lets herself in through the tent door. I vaguely recognize her from the Top Box handing out a picnic to her litter of redheads. Arnold IV rolls over to greet her, pink ears perked up in excitement. Her hair is a giant frizz and I try to remember her first name. Then I recall that I’ve never known it.</p><p>“Ginny!” she calls out, not noticing me. “Ginevra Molly!”</p><p>“She’s not here,” I tell her, voice flat.</p><p>“She’s not…?” Mrs Weasley looks at an old watch. “No, I see, she won’t be here for a little bit. Oh well, might as well make myself a cuppa and wait.”</p><p>Making herself at home, the plump woman lights the stove under the copper kettle. Apparently this is a woman who enjoys making tea the slow way. Somebody who doesn’t mind taking her time. </p><p>“So, dear,” Mrs Weasley said, seating herself at the little table across from Pansy, “what’s your name? You must be Ginny’s <i>Prophet</i> partner, but for some reason she hasn’t talked about you much.”</p><p>“Well, we’re both so busy,” I reply, deciding against the name reveal. Some things are more pleasant when nobody realizes who you are. This next bit is demonstrative of my ego: “I wrote that most recent article in the Daily Prophet about the colonial aspects of Latin magic. You probably didn’t see it…”</p><p>“No,” Mrs Weasley snaps at me. I am immediately put in my place by one word. “After a homemaker manages to produce adult children, she has plenty of time to read the paper cover to cover. I’ve always cared about international affairs… if anybody bothers to ask.’</p><p>“My sincere apologies, Mrs Weasley.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry, dear,” the older witch melts back into an authentic smile that reminds me of Ginny before we slept together and after she stopped hexing me. It’s like Ginny’s smile when she accidentally made me spaghetti. I lend Mrs Weasley a small smile in response and sip my coffee.</p><p>“Your article was very eye opening,” she continued. “Arthur and I have always considered ourselves liberal and yet we’re sometimes fools when it matters. With good intentions, Arthur glorifies Muggles in a way that I recently learned is actually pretty dehumanizing. Hermione Granger finally put him in his place.”</p><p>“I’m sure it’s not your fault,” I say with an authentic attempt at kindness. This is Ginny’s mother after all. It couldn’t hurt to be in her good books.</p><p>“Of course it’s our fault,” Mrs Weasley says. I agree with her, but then the kettle starts to whistle. Before she has a chance, I stand up to turn off the burner and pour hot water over a bag of English Breakfast. </p><p>“Cream and sugar?” I ask.</p><p>“Both,” she nods, “two scoops of sugar if you would.”</p><p>So I do, with the innate pleasure that comes with making somebody else tea. I hand it over, careful that she doesn’t burn her hand on the hot ceramic. She blows on the tea and while my parents would sniff at the plebian act, it makes me feel good. I sit down as she takes a sip. </p><p>“That’s perfect,” Mrs Weasley says. “Now, Pansy, you were a Slytherin at Hogwarts, correct?”</p><p>“You know my name?” I ask in response instead of answering.</p><p>“I told you.” She raises her eyebrows in a way that reminds me of Ginny yet again. “I read the paper cover to cover, and I’m good with details.”</p><p>Well, this woman is full of surprises isn’t she? Damn you, ego that revealed my identity by talking about the article.</p><p>“Yes, I was in Slytherin.”</p><p>“I thought so.” Mrs Weasley nodded smugly. “Ginny mentioned that her partner was in Slytherin. I admit, I held it against you at the time.”</p><p>“Of course you did.” I bite my tongue before continuing with an insult. We sit in silence for a moment. This woman has a fire in her eyes that doesn’t surprise me.</p><p>“I liked that article,” she finally says. “I’m surprised by that, but I’m glad to be surprised. Gives one hope, that maybe a quarter of our children at Hogwarts aren’t sorted into an ‘evil’ house.”</p><p>“Evil is in the eye of the beholder.”</p><p>Silence again. The hesitant sipping of hot beverages. </p><p>“So, tell me. Were you a You Know Who supporter?”</p><p>“I was.” Honesty is the only option when somebody will inevitably learn the truth. “But not anymore.”</p><p>“Clearly,” Mrs Weasley agrees with a nod. “So, what happened?”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“Everyone loves a good redemption story. Ginny won’t be here for another half hour. Indulge the mother who can’t help but mother everybody. We can go with the short version if you like.”</p><p>“Alright,” I concede and gulp my coffee in preparation. “There wasn’t any particular moment of revelation if that’s what you’re looking for.”</p><p>I pause but she stays silent, cueing me to keep talking. In this moment I latch on to the idea that by explaining this to her I am also explaining myself to Ginny. So I’m careful not to make any excuses. Brutal honesty only. (Honesty! Really. Honesty. Dear Hecate, I’d make a joke about the Gryffindor rubbing off on me but I’m with her mother for heathen’s sake. Besides, the thought of Ginny rubbing off on me… again. I am with her mother. Just talk about your dark past, Pansy.) </p><p>“I hated muggleborns. I teased people for being different. I enjoyed hurting people,” I confess. “I was young. That’s a fact, not an excuse. I was prejudiced and selfish. Some of those things are still ingrained in my original blueprints… DNA maybe.”</p><p>“Of course,” Mrs Weasley lays her hand over mine and it undies me. “What I asked though, was why you changed. I have a feeling that you need to tell somebody.”</p><p>“I… I don’t know!” I close my mouth before my feelings manifest in uneven breathing. I take a moment before going on. “All the adults that I thought knew everything? They all went to Azkaban or lost all social status or died. I didn’t want that.”</p><p>“It was more than that,” Mrs Weasley informs me. She’s right.</p><p>“Draco, and Blaise, and everybody started to question things and change is hard for me. It all became too much and so I left.” I check her face for judgement and find only compassion. I continue more freely. “That type of change I can handle. New places, different faces. I lived in France at first, planning to pursue a career in fashion… but then it was Berlin for a year, then one in Amsterdam, and then Beijing, after that, New York City. In every new place I met new people that changed me, and that was scary so I’d run away again. But I think… maybe running from change just changed me even faster…  After New York I somehow found myself apparating my way from a tiny village in Colombia slowly to the beaches of Brazil.”</p><p>I suddenly notice that my class privilege is showing, bragging about being able to gallivant carelessly around the world without financial concerns. Fortunately, Mrs Weasley looks more impressed than offended. “The witches, wizards, magic workers, and muggles I connected with ended up so different. Humanity became a rainbow spectrum.”</p><p>That was a little much, but I can’t help it. Worse, the image of Ginny in rainbow dungarees flashes unbidden in my mind. Deep breath. Mrs Weasley hums to indicate that I should continue. I don’t dare to look at her, but know that I can’t back out mid story.</p><p>“I was writing the whole time and I became addicted to asking questions. Got some travel stories published… Then I came home, moved to London and earned a degree in journalism.”</p><p>“Ginny never studied journalism.” Mrs Weasley looks surprised but I brush it off. </p><p>“No, I’m sure she didn’t,” I said lightly. Of course Ginny was hired with her famous name in lieu of actual qualification. “After school I was fortunate to get hired by Ms Shera Patil, editor of the <i>Prophet.</i> Somehow, she believed that I was who I was trying to be.”</p><p>I take a moment to remember that I’m talking to a complete stranger and that I am entirely too sincere. I don’t mention that one really intelligent, slutty witch in New York had played a large role in my conversion to progressive ideals. Or that my muggle girlfriend of ten months in Berlin helped me start a travel blog online. Besides that? Whatever. All in I guess. Besides, I’m still finishing my morning coffee. </p><p>“I started to believe that I am that person too,” I finish, sappy as a Hufflepuff.</p><p>“Well that’s alright then, isn’t it?” Mrs Weasleys’ mild response is exactly what I need.</p><p>“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still an entitled brat with snobby taste and perfectly manicured nails. I shriek a little less, maybe.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Mrs Weasley gives a hearty stomach laugh, looking me up and down like I’d just told her that I’m an entitled bratwurst with wobbly taste and perfectly manicured hedges. I can tell that this woman genuinely believes that I’m not as bad as I think I am. Based on absolutely no evidence aside from my word. Part of me scoffs at her naivete, but most of me is amused and grateful. I feel lighter. Less encumbered. We share a warm moment. </p><p>In the middle of our post-confessions-to-a-stranger-moment, a much younger, much sexier Weasley lady enters the tent. Upon seeing us she freezes. Recognizing my cue, I stand up, put my mug in the sink, and grab my bag. I’m halfway to the door when Mrs Weasley pipes up.</p><p>“There you are! I was just having tea with your friend here. Are you ready for waffles?”</p><p>“She’s not my friend,” Ginny replies flatly. </p><p>“Ginevra! Don’t be rude!” Mrs Weasley turns back to me. “I’m sorry, Pansy.”</p><p>“It’s alright,” I reply, with my polite face firmly in place. All lightness is gone as if Ginny’s hatred is a brick in my stomach. “I know we’re not friends. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Weasley.” </p><p>“Oh it’s Molly, dear. We’re all adults.”</p><p>Sure. Tell that to your daughter. I nod and say, “Goodbye Ginny.”</p><p>As soon as the tent door closes, I hear Molly Weasley scolding Ginny for her rudeness. My fake smile morphs into a smirk as I think about the faith I had begun to believe in myself. Now it’s time to go to the game and find my next story.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had a lot of fun with this one. Molly Weasley is one of my favorite characters and I felt like after that bit with her parents, Pansy needed a little loving. We all probably did too.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. "there had better be a piccolo solo"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny lay ruminating on top of her patchwork bedcover, watching her watercolor self fly through bright splashes of green. Pansy’s painting was coloured warm with lamplight, spellotaped to the tent wall opposite from the dark window. Ginny had no idea how long she’d been lying there, just looking at the painting and letting thoughts and feelings storm inside her. </p><p>The whole day had passed under the weight of her mum’s lecture about being gracious and treating others with respect. Even the waffles with her family had tasted bitter with begrudging guilt. Molly Weasley had not, by any means, unleashed the formidable fury for which she is known, but instead chose to guide her daughter by way of quick reprimand. </p><p>Ginny hadn’t even been that rude. It was just a fact: Pansy’s <i>not</i> her friend. Ginny pulled her hair in frustration, still watching the painting. </p><p>It stung, to be accused of not living in line with her values. Moreover, it was unfair. What? After tea and a chat her mum knew Pansy better than she did? Absurd. It was easy for her mum to say ‘<i>play nice.</i>’ It was easy for her to quote the ‘<i>forgive them, for they know not what they do’</i> bit of New Testament. But Pansy had known what she was doing! As much as anybody knows what they’re doing.. as much as any teenager knows what they’re doing… </p><p>But no. Pansy tortured her. The Cruciatus is actually a pretty difficult spell to cast, or so Ginny has heard. Pansy <i> had </i> to have had intention. </p><p>And yet, Pansy’s magical painting entranced her every time she looked at it. Tonight, as she gazed at it she heard the nuggets of truth behind her mum’s words. Maybe she has been rude? Maybe sleeping with somebody and then treating them like garbage isn’t okay regardless of what they’ve done? </p><p>Looking at the colors Pansy had painted the sky made Ginny think of the slender soft hands that had held the brush. Her stomach fluttered with the soft memory of Pansy’s skin. The sharp sensation of her fingernails against Ginny’s scalp. The way she had smelled like champagne, cigarettes, expensive perfume, and something incredibly human… something complex.<br/>
Her mind was a misty maze leading nowhere,  so she threw herself into action even though she didn’t know exactly what she was going to do. She sat up quickly and crawled across her bed to tear the watercolor down from the wall. After taking one last look at the watery picture  she went out to the living room. </p><p>As expected, Pansy sat at the couch with a glass of wine and a stack of research. Sheer tights riddled with intentional runs covered legs that rested on the coffee table. A lacy black bra was showing shamelessly from under her shirt and the tiny shorts she wore over her tights could barely be called shorts. At some point, the <i>Prophet</i> had stopped using their flew network due to having more reporters staying on site. So naturally Pansy had claimed the livingroom with the force of somebody who doesn’t give half a fuck. Ginny, during this trauma-fueled ice battle, was too avoidant to compete for that comfy leather sofa.</p><p>“Staring won’t give you the power to see through my clothes you know,” Pansy drawled, and Ginny realized she had in fact been staring. Pansy’s comment warmed Ginny’s cheeks. She resisted the temptation to retort ‘<i>what clothes?</i>’ but just barely. Gritting her teeth she stepped toward Pansy and held out the painting.</p><p>“Here,” she said gruffly, “this is yours.”</p><p>“No,” Pansy countered, calmly looking at the painting. “You asked for it and I gave it to you. I’m sorry to see those bludgers to the head have so strongly affected your memory.”</p><p>Ginny crossed the room to stand above Pansy and hoped that her height would lend itself to intimidation. </p><p>“Take it. I don’t want to look at it.”</p><p>“Why not?” Pansy tilted her head. Ginny was unable to tell if the question was sincere so she evaded it. Seeing as Pansy was refusing to take the watercolor, Ginny decided to carelessly drop it on top of all the loose parchment.</p><p>“No, gingersnap,” Pansy tried again. “Really. Why? You look beautiful in that picture. I’m that good.”</p><p>The words froze Ginny’s heart and put a fire in her belly.</p><p>“Shut up, Parkinson.”</p><p>“Oh dear, we’ve got a fiesty one here, don’t we?” Pansy smirks. “But then again, I already knew that.”</p><p>“What are you playing at?” Ginny demanded. She could never tell if Pansy was trying to insult her or seduce her. </p><p>“Ginny.” Pansy’s eyes revealed a hint of investment. “I’m not really playing, am I.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p>“Oh darling, go buy a brain.” Pansy spoke with the chill and laziness of melting snow, all hints of investment gone. “Oh, that’s right, you probably can’t afford one.” </p><p>“I am <i>still</i> a famous quidditch player!” The classist vibe hit Ginny exactly the way Pansy must have intended.</p><p>“No, you’re a completely obscure sports journalist.” Pansy said ‘sports journalist’ the way somebody might say ‘sandwich artist’ when referring to somebody who works at a sub shop. </p><p>Ginny let out a huff of frustration and turned to step back towards her bedroom door. Pansy said her name gently causing her to pause.</p><p>“Ginny… please. Before the game you didn’t want to hear apologies. You wanted ancient history to rot in the grave. All <i>that</i> is not why you hate me. You just hate that we shagged.”</p><p>“I don’t hate you!” Ginny pivoted to glare at Pansy. She was so off base. “I’m not like that. I don’t hate the people I sleep with!”</p><p>“I’m the one exception? Well, aren’t I special.”</p><p>“I <i>said </i>I don’t hate you.” </p><p>“Then why are you giving me this stupid fucking picture?” Pansy demanded, standing up to meet Ginny at eye’s height. “Why did you go from hexing me, to flirting shamelessly? Then you went from fucking me up on that counter to freezing me out completely.”</p><p>Ginny had no idea how to respond to that. Pansy was just stating facts. While Ginny stood there at a loss for words Pansy lost patience. </p><p>“Darling, trying to understand you is like trying to smell the color nine,” she said. Ginny was pretty sure she was about to hear something that Pansy had wanted to say on the first day of the quidditch match.</p><p>“Look, I’m not hung up about it. People get drunk and hook up with people they’d never shag sober. It happens.” Does it? “I just can’t comprehend why you have to act like such a child about it. Honestly, I’d like to be friendly but I’d settle for mature and professional.”</p><p>“I…” Ginny stumbled. Her quickly revved up anger met confusion, guilt, and a strange sort of fondness. “You’re right.”</p><p>“Of course I’m right, cupcake. So…?”</p><p>“So, yes.” Ginny nodded slowly. “We can be friendly. But I’m still giving back the painting.”</p><p>Pansy’s eyes had hinted at a smile when Ginny started but then darkened as she went on. Pansy leaned down to snatch up the watercolor.</p><p>“Fine.” She tore it neatly in two and let the pieces fall to the ground. “But I don’t want it either.”</p><p>Then, summoning a cigarette, she exited the tent. Cool nighttime air drifted into the stuffy tent as she closed the door. Ginny felt tears burn in her eyes and was overwhelmed with the feeling of having done something very stupid.</p><p>She leant down to pick up the two halves of the paper and whispered a <i>reparo</i>. After staring at the tent door for a moment, she took the mended watercolor back to her room and placed it gingerly on her dresser. </p><p>As she did her nighttime stretches, she focused on releasing the stagnant tension in her body. Maybe if her hamstrings could relax into her forward bend, she too could relax into moving forward.</p><p>***</p><p>Ginny fell asleep quickly, blessed with a superb propensity for slumber, and woke up refreshed and grateful for her morning workout routine. The <i>Prophet’s</i> reporting team had grown so she had time to take a run in the woods. She did a couple laps of interval sprinting around the giant stadium and got back to the tent sweaty and unable to stop wondering whether Pansy would be there for blupper (breakfast/lunch/supper: for when you just don’t know what meal it’s supposed to be).</p><p>Ginny frowned at discovering that Pansy wasn’t there. She noted that she was disappointed and worked on her glutes. She observed the sensation of guilt and worked out her quads and hip flexors. By the time she got to her calves and hamstrings she realized that she hoped she’d see Pansy soon. </p><p>The largest portion of the rest of her day involved interviewing the most recently injured seekers. Gaby accompanied her to the medi-tent to assist with a second quick quotes quill and a good attitude. Also, she spoke some Spanish and had more reliable translation charms.</p><p>The interviews were somewhat disappointing as neither of the Chilean seekers were particularly loquacious or insightful. They weren’t even able to accurately recount the maneuvers they had been attempting when they were injured, which made the whole morning lacking in story potential. However it was always a delight to interview their international guests. It made Ginny wish she wasn’t so bollocks at languages, because Gaby seemed to absolutely adore Chilean Spanish. Ginny had no idea how it was different from any other type of Spanish. </p><p>Leading Seeker, Antinanco Bravo, may have forgotten his failed wronski feint, but he remembered something that surprised Ginny. </p><p>“Ginny Weasley?” He had greeted her from a propped up in a hospital bed. She nodded, beaming at him and upon his recognition confirmation he continued: “ Pansy Parkinson mentioned that you’d be coming by today. She said to look out for a witch with ginger hair, athletic build, and a blazing look in her eyes. Thought it must be you. Pansy’s such a special woman.”</p><p>“Is she?” Ginny asked. Gaby’s translation charms were generally impeccable, but what Bravo was saying shocked Ginny. </p><p>“Oh yes, did you not read her article?” Antinanco’s eyes widened in surprise. “I asked her to write it and she did. I remember her because she didn’t act like she thought herself better than me and was so open minded. I was surprised.”</p><p>“Right, because she’s a pureblood Slytherin?” Ginny asked without thinking.</p><p>“What is a Slytherin? No. Because she is English,” Bravo was easy mannered but Ginny felt incredibly stupid. “She thought maybe I had something to say that wasn’t about snitches.”</p><p>“And she was right,” said Gabrielle. They paused, the seeker’s attention lingering on Gaby and her lustrous blonde locks. </p><p>“Well,” Ginny looked down at her notes, “I was going to ask you if you’d seen the snitch lately but…”</p><p>“Ha!” He laughed out loud. “Of course you were, but hey, I’m an internationally famous quidditch player. I can not really complain! Besides, I’m aware of your respect for the game. Ginny Weasley, you were on the all witch English team, right? Holyhead Harpies? The feminist team.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ginny said, unsure where he was going.</p><p>“Same on Alicia Spinnet was on, no?” Bravo laughed and winked at her. “She’s a very good flier. I’d love to see you on a broom.”</p><p>Ginny was sure that her freckled complexion betrayed her by blushing (as it is wonton to nearly 20 times per day, yes, yes, we know). They sped through the interview questions as it was clear that neither Bravo nor the second string seeker were particularly helpful in analyzing their failed attempts to catch the snitch. It was clearly a sore subject and the journalists didn’t want to be insensitive.</p><p>“Well, it might be the pain potions they are on,” Gaby mused aloud as they walked up the tall wooden stairway from the medi-tent to the stands. “But they might just be a bit dim. You know how those  athletic types are.”</p><p>“Hey! I resent that!” Ginny said with a laugh, elbowing the other woman in the ribs. </p><p>“But hey!” Gaby went on with a coy grin. “At least one good thing came out of those interviews.”</p><p>“And what is that exactly?”</p><p>“Well,” Gaby flipped her silky hair, “did you see the way that Seeker Bravo looked at me?”</p><p>“What, like you’re a sexy french angel?” Ginny nodded knowingly. “Thing is, Little Miss Veela, everybody looks at you like that.”</p><p>“Yes, but Bravo is fit, famous, and foreign to boot!”</p><p>They were nearing the Top Box and while Ginny was easily climbing the stairs Gaby slowed down for a breather. Ginny silently patted herself on the back for never being a smoker.</p><p>“But you!” Gaby said with a pointed finger. “A chaste little lamb? I think not! I have taken note of your taciturn emotions that flash around as fast as only romance could make them! Who is this secret triste of yours? Oh but wait! I think perhaps I might take a guess…”</p><p>“Oh? Who is it?” </p><p>“Pansy Parkinson!” Gaby proclaimed. “At least, I could definitely tell you two were going to roll somersaults that night after your gay debutaunt ball. You did, did you not?”</p><p>“Gabrielle Delacour! You are scandalous!”</p><p>“<i>Moi? No, ma chere,</i> you are the scandalous one!” Gaby was so obviously pleased with herself. “Well? Was the sex not good? Too much anticipation?”</p><p>“Not exactly… It was more that afterwards I remembered that I can’t stand her as a person.”</p><p>“What? That is a silly reason to stop making love to somebody.”</p><p>Ginny momentarily questioned her taste in friends. But then she looked at Gaby’s carefree smile and replied:</p><p>“No, Gaby, that’s a perfectly good reason to not have sex with someone. The thing is…  I think maybe… I don’t know. At least… I’m curious.”</p><p>“Well then why are you not pursuing her?”</p><p>“Because she’s scary? We have more than a silly schoolgirl rivalry behind us. Besides, at this point I’m pretty sure <i>she </i>hates<i> me.</i>” Ginny sighed. “It’s difficult and I’m not used to difficult.”</p><p>“That is ridiculous,” Gaby scoffed. “I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be brave?”</p><p>“We are,” Ginny confirmed her knowledge of the British Wizarding school before realizing she’d agreed with Gaby. As she said it, things began clicking into place. “Gaby, you’re absolutely right. I <i>am</i> supposed to be brave.”</p><p>“You are welcome. Still, say the word and I’ll poison her for you,<i> ma cherie.</i>” she said, pulling Ginny up the stairs with her. “Now let us stop being slackers and get to work.”</p><p>Ginny had forced herself to forget the past before the game. In the past several weeks of continual snitch-misses she had been avoiding everything that came back to her. But those panicky feelings, sickening memories… they weren’t going anywhere. Avoidance was impossible now. </p><p>***</p><p>
  <i>FOREIGN INFLUENCE IN CHILEAN POLITICS TAKE LIVES<br/>
Pansy Parkinson</i>
</p><p>
  <i>English Wizengamot member Genarld Brown offends Chilean diplomat Mateo Perez by refering to yesterday’s assassination of a Bolivian Senator as an ‘act of civil disobience.’ Perez argued that it could not be an act of civil disobedience if it wasn’t committed by civilians, but was ministrated by foreign powers. The accusations against Britain’s Magical Intelligence Agency were clear. Wands were drawn in a pop up restaurant in what is becoming known as Sports Fan’s Village as Perez angrily assured the brew-tent that England is behind the recent political repression and string of assassinations in South America. Minister Shacklebolt has yet to comment on the heavy tension that weighs down the stands of this everlasting World Cup... (cont. Pg D5)</i>
</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Draco has noticed my soggy mood for the past couple of days and has subsequently held me for interrogation. The cushy kind of interrogation that is enjoyed over a truffle gnocchi dinner set for two in the otherwise empty Malfoy tent.</p><p>“Sit down. Drink this.” </p><p>I accept the glass of wine and sit down to tell him about the watercolor incident.  He raises an eyebrow when I assure him that since then I have acted maturely and professionally, only communicating with small talk over<i>Prophet</i> work. </p><p>As for Ginny, she’s been acting… well... I don’t tell Draco this, but she’s been spending more time exercising in our shared space and she definitely made too much for dinner the night before last… I even ignored the way she was about to serve up two plates. But the way her workouts make her all flush and panting? That’s harder to ignore. </p><p>Perhaps the days of me owning the living room are nearing an end.</p><p>I do tell Draco that Ginny must have either taken back the picture or had thrown it away, because it was no longer on the tent floor when I came back in from that smoke break. I want to hear his speculations, but instead:</p><p>“You should never tear up your art,” he scolds. “And no girl is worth your tears.”</p><p>“Nobody’s crying!” I kick him under the table. </p><p> Before I can place my napkin on my plate he’s sending an owl to Harry Potter in which he suggests to meet at one of the pub tents. Frequent campers have begun to call a large portion of the campground ‘Sports Fan’s Village’ or ‘Lugar Divertido.’</p><p>“Alright,” Draco says, folding up the response letter from Potter 10 minutes later. Potter’s tent is a short walk from Malfoy’s, so the owl’s flight was quick. Bet those owls fly miles every day just back and forth through the campground. Salazar, those boys are absolutely disgusting. Draco offers his arm to me, to lead me out of the tent.</p><p>“Really, Draco,” I groan and push away his arm. “Being third wheel to you and Potter sounds about as appealing as giving Dumbledore a blow job.”</p><p>“Gross, Pansy.” He’s right, I almost just made myself vomit with that one… Like, Dumbledore as a living old man? Or Dumbledore in his current state, sealed in a white tomb… <i>oh god brain bleach brain bleach.</i></p><p>“If anyone feels like a third wheel it’ll be Potter,” Draco had said fondly, grabbing my hand and pulling me out the door. “Now, come on Pansy, when have I ever led you astray?”</p><p>“Do you honestly want me to answer that?” I ask sardonically. Submitting to my tragic fate, I allow him to drag me outside.</p><p>We stroll through the woods, enjoying a chit chat about nothing and anything. He’s telling me how their relationship has developed these past few weeks. Apparently it’s developed quite a lot. Yuck. </p><p>I relieve us from the drudgery of describing blissful partnerhood with the time tested <i>insulting stranger</i> minouvre. I jibe the most atrocious excuse for a muggle outfit anybody anywhere has ever seen: A green plaid suit over a ratty orange t-shirt, all worn by a man who clearly thinks too much of himself. </p><p>“I must say, the bright paisley cumberbund around his forehead certainly evokes elements of avant garde.”</p><p>“To be fair, I’m fairly certain I’ve seen muggles dressed like that in Berlin…”</p><p>“Or Soho.”</p><p>“Or Brooklyn. Alright, fine. Sir Cumberbun is simply developing a niche look. Narcissistic tosser.”</p><p>“We can tell he’s full of it,” Draco nods sagely to me, “Because we too, are beautifully arrogant.”</p><p>“It’s important to be one’s authentic self,” I agree. The irony isn’t lost on either of us.</p><p>We leave Sir Cumberbun behind and walk down the fairy lit paths to Lugar Divertido. Holding hands and talking shit with Draco makes me feel like a kid again, cooler than all the other kids. Cooler than Ginny for sure. I should be annoyed to spend the evening as the third wheel but it feels surprisingly bearable to be doing something other than working, sleeping, or moping.</p><p>Also, I could use a pint. Yes, yes, generally I’m more of a wine person, but it feels like a lager night. Tonight must be the hottest evening we’ve had this year. </p><p>I suppose I can hang out with Scarhead.To drink beer. In a brew-tent. The kind where I definitely wouldn’t order a French 75 with cognac if you know what I mean. I think Sports Fan’s Village also has a higher class pop up cocktail bar and I tell Draco that’s where we’re going next time. He owes me. </p><p>Although it’s not until we arrive in the pub that I realize exactly how badly he owes me. Harry Potter waves to us from across the pub. He’s wearing a ratty muggle hoodie with an absurd pocket taking up the whole stomach. I cringe at the thought of being seen with him until I remember that he’s the Chosen Savior Who Lived and therefore is publicly considered high society. The public is moronic.</p><p>But no, it’s not Harry Potter that makes me want to run away screaming or hit Draco with a Big Ouch type of curse. It’s the freckled, caramel eyed, ginger haired, absolutely gorgeous witch with a toned body and untamable attitude that is sitting next to him. Above her baggy, holey jeans, she wears a tiny black and floral crop top. Her stomach looks so… ugh. And I’m pretty sure she’s ditched her ever present sports bra. I’m done for, drooling over this unattainable disaster. Where has my pride gone? Why on earth am I still in this crowded stinky pub-tent holding Draco’s hand?</p><p>“There they are,” Draco tells me unnecessarily. “Come on.”</p><p>“I would love to, but unfortunately… no.” </p><p>“Pans, don’t be like that.”</p><p>“Me? You just tricked me into coming here!” I hiss, under my breath even though nobody is listening. “And just barely, I might add!”</p><p>“I would never trick anybody!” Draco says, placing a hand on his heart with a performance of hurt feelings. “I never said Ginny <i>wouldn’t </i>be here. Besides, sometimes ‘enemies to lovers’ relationships just need a little forced exposure.”</p><p>“Draco. We<i> live together</i>.”</p><p>“Perfect!” Draco flashes me some out-of-character optimism. “Then you’ll do just fine. Just play nice and maybe things will work out for you.”</p><p>Potter is a horrible influence. </p><p>“Just because holier-than-everyone Potter is letting you seduce him doesn’t mean that spit-fire-doesn’t-know-what-she-wants Weasley -”</p><p>“Careful, Pans,” Draco says, suddenly serious. “Your Insecure is showing.”</p><p>I nod, understanding immediately. I adjust my posture and check my perfect nails.</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>“Fine?”</p><p>“That’s what I said. Now, let’s go. You’re buying.”</p><p>“Splendid,” he says in his Gracious Voice. I allow him to lead me through the crowded tent and watch as he sits down next to Potter, leaving the only available spot for me at the table which is next to Ginny. She smiles pleasantly at me and I pause. </p><p>“Hey Pansy,” she says, clearly struggling to achieve a tone of nonchalance. </p><p>“She knew I was coming,” I accuse Draco, not addressing Ginny. But he doesn’t get a chance to reply.</p><p>“Yeah.” She smiles brightly up at me and scoots the empty chair out for me. “I did. Sit by me?”</p><p>Here we go again. Whiplash. I sit down. Draco, god bless his evil soul, immediately starts talking quidditch. This engages them fully and gives me time to adjust to the way that Ginny’s shoulder is inches from my own. It also gives me just enough time to start processing that Ginny specifically wants to be this close.</p><p>The beer that Draco gets me is beer. So I’m not a huge fan of the taste or aesthetic, but I am a fan of the alcohol content, low though it may be. And the beer is cold and I’m thirsty. Really thirsty. I mean, seriously, Ginny’s hair is nearly as messy as Potter’s.</p><p>“Hey Pansy,” Potter says. Apparently even quidditch debriefing wears off quickly these days. “I liked that last article of yours in the <i>Prophet.</i>”</p><p>“You read that?” And weren’t offended by how I portrayed Minister Shaklebolt? Also, we’re on a first name basis now? I barely even know the guy… except for the whole bullying and trying to hand over to Voldemort bit.</p><p>“Well, I gave up reading the news for a couple years,” he admits. “But once the Prophet got over writing about me they became more tolerable. It’s nice to know what’s up at home when I’m in Romania.  And your stuff is always worth a read.”</p><p>Okay, that’s it. I glance at Draco and make sure he understands that I suspect him of prompting. Usually I like to think I’m subtle, but apparently Potter/Harry is really as observant as he’s lauded to be.</p><p>“No,” he says, laughing. “Draco didn’t tell me to say that. Living outside of England has made me care more about the world, not just this little island. Shacklebolt’s upcoming election also has me keeping an eye out for foul play.”</p><p>“Harry doesn’t think our Ministry has anything to do with that assassination,” Draco says, looking adoringly at his boyfriend. Ew. “The Senator that was killed shared nearly all of Shacklebolt’s views.”</p><p>Shacklebolt’s views are shared by everyone in the Ministry and he may not have control over all of his subordinates. But I don’t comment on that. I’m distracted by the effort to not lean closer and closer to Ginny. What would happen if our shoulders brushed?</p><p>“That’s right,” I say to Potter. “You’ve done a good job endorsing the Minister, didn’t you? Probably why he’s in office, to be honest.”</p><p>“What do you mean by that?” Harry’s eyes narrow and I see Draco squeeze his knee under the table.</p><p>“Oh, just that I’m sure your endorsement helped England overlook a lot of prejudice and conservatism. First Black Minister and all.” Harry’s eyebrows relax. Draco definitely worked this boy up to spending time with me. “Not to mention his radically progressive policies. I can’t imagine he could have gotten elected without you supporting his campaign.”</p><p>Gulp of the piss-water lager. Draco is all starry eyed gazing at the bespeckled boy.</p><p>“As you know if you’ve been reading my opinion pieces, I think Shacklebolt is exactly what we need right now. Did you read Skeeter’s article about him?”</p><p>“Oh that absolute <i> cow,</i>” Ginny fumes. Damn she’s hot when she’s angry. “I don’t think I could work at the Prophet if she was still there.”</p><p>“I had to,” I say. “We worked together for three years before Patil became editor in chief and refused to print her stories.”</p><p>The four of us get through our first pint just trash talking Rita Skeeter. Who knew that we’d have such a great unifying figure? Granted, the three of them all have more personal reasons for loathing her than I do, but I still had to work with her for years, so I have the best anecdotes with which to mock her. But when Ginny tells us about the flood of hate mail that came her way when Skeeter outed her my dislike multiplies sevenfold.</p><p>“You didn’t tell me you got bombarded with hate mail!” I accuse Ginny. Who do I kill?</p><p>“Yes, well...” She looks down at the table. “Most of the letters came on the first day of the game… so there was a lot going on. After that first week it wasn’t so bad. I only read the first few. After that, I just got a little pyro fix with each one.” </p><p>“But Ginny!” Harry says, startled. “You should’ve told Hermione or me! She figured out a spell <i>years </i>ago that filters out any malicious owls. The letters disappear before the owl can even find you. It’s probably saved my life half a dozen times.”</p><p>“Oh great,” Ginny says. “Yes, that is very helpful to know now that everyone’s forgotten the whole scandall. Thanks <i>so</i> much.”</p><p>“Still.” Harry shrugs. “Could be a good idea for you. I swear, people are so obsessed with the love lives of strangers. I’ll never understand it.”</p><p>The conversation veers and turns and I’m surprised to say that I’m actually enjoying myself. Ginny isn’t being weird, or at least, not weird for her. She’s pleasantly friendly but has the decency to try not to flirt. It would kill me if she did. Her eyes keep gliding to me, but she can’t help it. I am unjustly attractive. </p><p>As we’re nearing the end of our second round I determine that while Draco knows that Ginny and I slept together, Harry has no idea. Good. I wish nobody knew. I wish <i>I</i> didn’t know. </p><p>“Hello? Hello, um, Mr Potter, sir?” A young boy comes over to our table.</p><p>“Er, yes?” Asks Harry. The kid is shaking but holds out a piece of parchment and a quill. Harry sees them and his shoulders hunch with poorly veiled impatience. He looks around surreptitiously to check that nobody is watching (which thank god they aren’t) and quickly accepts the parchment and paper.</p><p>“Fine, name?” Harry asks. Apparently he’s finally gathered that appeasing his fans is the fastest way to get rid of them.</p><p>“Um… Bernie,” says the boy nearing a whisper. “But well, I was actually hoping you’d sign...well. It’s a letter to the Ministry of Magic, actually. Like a petition.”</p><p>“Oh?” Harry reads the parchment and I’m sure both Draco and I were scanning this kid for incriminants. But the boy just nods and waits patiently. What an odd duck. Harry does eventually sign whatever the letter is and the odd duck’s face breaks into a huge smile.</p><p>“Thank you so much! It’ll be a big deal to have your name on there!” Bernie squeals and then looks around so that his eyes stop at Ginny. “Ginny Weasley! Wow! You could sign the letter too?”</p><p>Fine, whatever, Draco and I don’t give our signatures away so easily anyways. We’re cooler than all the other kids. </p><p>“Sure thing, kid,” says Ginny scribbling on the parchment.  </p><p>When the kid leaves Harry fills in us: “He’s going to Hogwarts and wants to play on the house team but all the brooms are awful. The letter calls to set a price limit on brooms used during matches and increasing funding for school brooms.”</p><p>“So no top line brooms at the school?” Draco demands, immediately. He looks at me with a desperate look that clearly communicates: <i>“I know everything I believed growing up must be challenged but but but... ”</i>. </p><p>“Yeah, Malfoy,” Ginny laughs “Poor future little Malfoys will have to get in on skill alone, just like the rest of us.”</p><p>We know that we’re not prepared for a debate so we stay quiet.</p><p>“It’s an equity project, is all,” Harry shrugs. “Little Bernie had a good idea there.”</p><p>“Well Potter,” I say, unsure if I’m mocking him or not, “way to use your position for positive change.”</p><p>The next bit is sickeningly cute as Harry comforts Draco that nobody is going to <i>take away</i> anybody else’s super fancy pants broomstick. I suppose I may have to actually get to know the bespeckled tosser, especially considering that I might end up cohabitating with him if he and Draco get serious after our sophisticated fall wedding. </p><p>“What do you think of Juliet roses?” I ask Harry candidly as the wedding comes to mind. Really, I don’t have much interest in broom sticks (nudge, nudge, wink, wink).</p><p>“Insufferably pretentious,” Draco drawls, saving Harry from having to answer. “What do you think of the chamber orchestra?”</p><p>“I think there had better be a piccolo solo.”</p><p>“Honestly, what ever happened to a nice, classic string quartet?”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Ginny asked. Harry didn’t say anything at all, but didn’t look confused. Oh, shit… Maybe not all people would consider an encroaching engagement something to laugh about.</p><p>“Oh, just the wedding our mothers are planning,” Draco informs them sardonically. “Apparently anything tasteful or simple is considered plebeian.”</p><p>“Wait. You’re kidding.” Ginny laughs heartily and full of mirth. “You’re trying to tell me that your mothers are arranging your marriage?”</p><p>“Well,” I say, starting to feel my shoulders tense. I did bring this upon myself after all. “We were talking more specifically about the sophistication of an autumnal wedding. Imagine falling leaves. Red and gold, you’d approve. You <i>are</i> invited of course, Harry. Jury’s still out on the Weaslette though.”</p><p>Draco and I haven’t recently discussed the imminence of our marriage. I’m still half convinced that it’s really just going to continue to be a Thing That Will Someday Happen. </p><p>“Fall…” Harry said, staring at Draco. “Which fall?”</p><p>Oh. Shit. Bloody hell Draco! He doesn’t know when it’s going to be?  <i>You should know better than to try to keep secrets that will inevitably come out. </i>Wait… that goes in all directions and it makes my head spin a bit. I keep my mouth closed and stare at my pint. </p><p><i>Draco,</i> I kick him hard under the table, <i>take care of your man.</i></p><p>I know he understands what I’m trying to communicate because he stands up abruptly and pulls a defiant Harry Potter up with him.</p><p>“Well, ladies,” Dracy nods graciously to the two of them as Harry continues to brood. “It’s been a pleasure.”</p><p>“What, you aren’t going to kiss your <i>fiance</i> good night?” Harry says. Draco mutters something and turns to go. Harry looks at me darkly, so I honor his suggestion and blow Draco a kiss. Draco just glares at me in return -so unfair! Then the two moody boys leave the tent.</p><p>“Goodnight!” Ginny calls after them, starting to get up from the table but then becoming unsure. She plops back down and looks at me. I have to explain myself.</p><p>“I thought he knew! Draco said he knew we were engaged… I thought everyone knew!” I shriek through a muted voice. The muted shriek is one of my finest inventions: specifically for when shrieking is warranted but inappropriate. Like, for example, after telling one’s fiance's newly-recovered boyfriend about the wedding decorations for two months from now. Blaise called me a banshee once at Hogwarts. It’s an on/off switch, I think.</p><p>Yeah, so I finish my beer like a butch and slam the empty pint glass on the table. </p><p>“I didn’t know,” Ginny says softly, playing with a tear in her jeans. </p><p>“Well,” I say, wishing that I had more beer (which by the way, I still don’t like). “It didn’t matter.”</p><p>“Sure.” She nods and gulps down her last inch. “Wanna walk back to our tent?”</p><p>“Sure.” My stomach tingles when she says <i>our tent</i>. We leave unnoticed through the crowd. I tell her I’m going to take a smoke break before walking back.</p><p>“Okay, I’ll wait with you.” </p><p>We don’t talk a whole lot. It’s quieter out here, off a bit into the woods, right next to a large tree. I lean my back and head against the wooden trunk to look up at the dark canopy above us. Smoke trails out through my burgundy lips and the chatter from within the brewtent filters out into night air. Ginny sits on a large fallen log, nature’s bench, looking at me.</p><p>“Why are you marrying Malfoy?” she asks. “I’m not trying to be judgy or anything but… yeah I mean. You’re both really gay.”</p><p>“Exactly.” I shrug. “It was my idea when we came out to each other when we were 14. I was so clever you see. We could be married for the continuation of our pureblood legacy. But we could also do whatever the fuck we wanted with our private lives, knowing that we’d have eachother’s back.”</p><p>“I guess that’s practical then,” Ginny says with just a soft hint of mockery.</p><p>“No it’s not,” I flick ashes on to the forest floor. “It’s not, but we found out when we turned 17 that we had been written down to wed since we were about 6 years old. So it didn’t really matter what we wanted anyways.”</p><p>“Oh.” I can hear Ginny’s frown. “So, is it, like, written in blood then?”</p><p>“Blood magic?” I laugh mirthlessly. “No. Just the metaphorical magic of familial responsibility and a truly enchanting inheritance. Breaking an engagement like that would be akin to breaching the Statute of Secrecy. The world would end and we would be the catalysts.” </p><p>I look down at her, but she’s still frowning at the ground.. </p><p>“Besides, Draco and I would make ridiculously good looking offspring.”</p><p>This earns a laugh and she looks up so that our eyes meet. </p><p>“Besides, it was Grandmother’s wish that I marry Draco. Remember how--?”</p><p>“Yeah, she practically raised you until you were 14.”</p><p>“Right.” I’m touched that she remembers. “So, I guess part of me feels like I’m honoring her memory by marrying him. She always wanted what was best for me, and she’s… well, she was a badass witch. I owe it to her.”</p><p>Ginny seems to know better than to say what's on her mind and I imagine her silence is a rare moment of acumen. I push myself away from the tree, and after taking one last drag I vanish the cigarette butt. Ginny follows me, standing up. Lugar Divertido is alive tonight. Merry lights and music come from various tents and fire pit gatherings. </p><p>I wonder what it would be like to have a nighttime wedding in June, in the woods with little fairies casting glowing lights. The smell of tree sap mingling with woodsmoke.  </p><p>“What are you going to do with the rest of your night?” Ginny asks me as we traipse down to our tent.</p><p>“Well I know we both have disgustingly early mornings,” I say.</p><p>“What? I thought you were starting at 8:30?” she says quixotically. </p><p>“Exactly.” </p><p>Ginny grants me one breath of laughter and I love it. Our strides are perfectly in line. I continue, “I was just going to sketch a bit.”</p><p>“Yeah? Maybe I’ll join you. I’ve heard art can be quite therapeutic.”</p><p>“I saw those flower pots you painted,” I scoff. “Maybe you could take a break from the art therapy.”</p><p>“Well, okay, maybe I’ll do some light reading,” she says. I know she’s not really that much of a reader though. She knows too, so she tries again: “I could practice my Thai Chi… or, well, maybe I’ll train Arnold. He’s almost mastered roll over.”</p><p>“No, Arnold just loves to roll around,” I explain through a small smile. “Like you do, cupcake.”</p><p>“Don’t.”</p><p>I lift up one shoulder in a shrug and savor getting a small rise out of her. I said she had the decency not to flirt with me, but I found myself under no obligation to follow those same unspoken rules. “How about I sketch in the living room and you can pursue various activities within my proximity. I have a bottle of wine.”</p><p>“You only have one bottle of wine?”</p><p>“Well, obviously I have a portable wine cellar. But it’s a work-night and we know how I like to make good choices.”</p><p>“Okay, well, alright then.” Ginny opens the tent door for me. “That sounds alright.”</p><p>“Alright, gingersnap.” I smirk at her as I walk past her, intentionally close. “Alright.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And here we go with the slow burn. Not super action packed, I know, but hey I snuck a little drarry in there! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. "you're not as tragic as you think you are."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello readers! Sorry it's been a couple weeks. There's some politics, but there's even more pining and UST. It's pretty fluffy stuff.</p><p>Happy reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>During the next few days after that night when Pansy had silently sketched and Ginny had silently pursued various activities in her proximity, their interpersonal tension gradually eased. In fact, Ginny often struggled to determine whether Pansy’s snarky comments were sadistic or flirtatious. Quite possibly they were both. It was also becoming more and more difficult for Ginny to ignore their residual sexual chemistry. However, as Ginny didn’t know what she wanted, she persevered with somewhat ineffectual denial.</p><p>Everybody at the World Cup was also persevering: the fans who commuted around the world in order to keep their jobs and watch the match and the exhausted athletes who played in long shifts so that the game was constantly active. Gabriele even expressed sympathy for the bludgers that never gave up. However fast those seekers flew, the snitch kept proving itself to be a better flier. Ginny kept losing count of how many days they’d been at the match, only remembering the date when she sent a report to Mr Gibble or Ms Patil. She was more likely to know the score than the day of the week. </p><p>But it’s strange how an unreal situation can quickly become the new normal.</p><p>Like cohabitation with Pansy Parkinson for instance. When they spent so much time in each other's presence, Ginny had to normalize the fact that she was noticing little details about her roommate. For example, she now knew that Pansy didn’t like English Breakfast tea, preferring American drip coffee (black) in the morning, and wine in the evenings. She knew that Pansy never took off her mascara at night because it was always smudged in the mornings. She knew that Pansy’s feet never touched the ground while she sat on the sofa, but instead she would drape them over the arm or kick them up on the coffee table. Pansy smoked weed nearly every night before bed and couldn’t take a shower without blasting music. She despised lentil beans and loved black licorice snakes. Ginny was sure the other witch didn’t have a single pair of tights without at least one run and that the runs were most likely intentional. Ginny noticed and remembered. And that had to be normal.</p><p>One afternoon in their tent Pansy broke character and accepted English Breakfast tea from Molly Weasley. She took cream, no sugar. Ginny tucked that knowledge into the filing cabinet of memory, though she wasn’t sure why. Surely it was a normal thing to do.</p><p>Ginny sat on the couch and her mother and tentmate sat at the dining table. Earlier that day Ginny had placed fresh daisies in the vase. Pansy and Ginny’s mum chatted easily while she watched in silence. Her mum had no heavy history with Pansy and seemed to genuinely like her. Their conversation flowed so easily that Ginny could just lean back and listen.</p><p>“That awful woman’s opinion of Shacklebolt could only influence idiots,” Molly said.</p><p>“My parents believe her,” Pansy responded.</p><p>“Oh dear,” Molly rushed, “I didn’t mean to imply--”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Pansy interrupted, “my parents are definitely…well. ”</p><p>“Well...” Molly hesitated. “I’m sure they have redeeming qualities.”</p><p>“Yes,” said Pansy. “I like to think so.”</p><p>Molly informed Ginny that her dad, Ron, Hermione, and Harry were planning a small family dinner. </p><p>“We could host in our tent,” said Molly, tapping her chin. “Though it’s a little bit roomier in here, if we just extend the table.”</p><p>“You should have dinner here,” Pansy agreed before Ginny had a chance to weigh in. “I can go stay at Draco’s.”</p><p>“Don’t be silly, dear” Molly huffed. “You’ll stay here and join us. <i>Accio apron</i>!”</p><p>Pansy glanced at Ginny while her mum stared out the arched window, waiting for her apron. Her eyes were inquiring and Ginny gritted her teeth. Family dinner with a Slytherin? Family dinner with somebody she’d drunkenly shagged but wasn’t sure she liked? While she was enjoying their new found civility this certainly couldn’t be normal.</p><p>However the complexity of their relationship was 100% not something Ginny felt like sharing with her mum. Saying that Pansy couldn’t eat with them would just draw attention to Ginny’s discomfort and might raise unwanted questions. So she nodded at Pansy, who’s posture relaxed by a fraction. </p><p>“That sounds delightful, Molly,” Pansy said as Molly’s apron flew in through the window. Unbeknownst to Ginny, Pansy had a black apron stored in the drawer by the sink. It fit well over her short, tight, green dress. Her traitorous imagination pictured what Pansy might look like wearing <i>only</i> the apron. She shook her head and fixed her eyes on the floor. She <i>definitely </i> didn’t fancy Pansy anymore.</p><p>Pansy offered to help and Molly was charmed. Ginny had never seen the pureblood princess cook before, nor had she ever seen her so polite. Not wanting to be shown up, Ginny joined the other women in the cooking process. She opted out of the whole cute apron business, but regretted it when she spilled olive oil on her Holly Head Harpies t-shirt. </p><p>It was especially regretful because Pansy reached out to help her clean up. She looked like she was about to dab at Ginny’s chest with a cloth before opting to utilize a <i>scourgify</i>. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second while her wand was pointed at Ginny’s chest. She shivered as if Pansy had charmed her but they both looked away quickly as Pansy pocketed her wand.<br/>
Arthur, Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived and Ginny tried to focus on them instead of on her roommate. It wasn’t easy. Their table was extended to seat seven people and green beans, chicken, and roasted potatoes steamed deliciously on top of the floral tablecloth.</p><p>Harry, Auror training dropout and Constant Vigilance-guy, inevitably steered the conversation towards Death Eaters, more specifically to current Death Eater Wanna Be’s.</p><p>“I just don’t think these young witches and wizards know what they’re getting into,” Harry said, piling potatoes into his mouth. “They were just little kids during the Second War. They don’t know what they're saying.”</p><p>Ginny wondered briefly when Harry had become so forgiving and decided it must have something to do with Draco.</p><p>“No,” Pansy disagreed. Shoulders tensed all around the table, but she continued, “They know what they’re saying. Young or not. Even if they weren’t Death Eaters in the war, they are next generation Death Eaters. They get dark mark paraphernalia and tattoos. So what if they were kids when the Dark Lord was in power.”</p><p>“I agree,” Hermione said. “It’s similar to how modern muggle Neo-Nazi’s continue to gather, even decades after Hitler died. They still wear the swastika and parrot the antisemitism but they’re different from Halocaust Nazis. They continue to foster hatred even though their leader is gone and the War is over. I think they’re almost worse than the originals. The threat is gone, so they aren’t acting from a place of fear.”</p><p><i>Fear. Pansy had been afraid.</i> Ginny hadn’t thought of it that way.</p><p> Harry responded with a mouthful of string beans. “The kids are still being manipulated by new leaders. There are plenty powerful politicians with the same bigoted beliefs. They try to instil fear. Those people never go away.”</p><p>“Hateful groups won’t go away,” Arthur agreed. “Because as long as there’s disenfranchised, low income folk, there will be narcissistic and power-hungry wizards ready to recruit them to what they think is a higher purpose. Nazis, Death Eaters, or otherwise.”</p><p>Ginny’s dad looked at Pansy, thoughtfully.</p><p>“Really,” he continued, “I feel sorry for those boys.”</p><p>“Hey,” Ron argued with a mouth of potatoes, “don’t feel too sympathetic. We grew up poor and none of us became Death Eaters.”</p><p>“And we grew up filthy rich and we did,” Pansy said. “Well, most of us…” </p><p>A heavy silence fell over the table, everybody either staring at Pansy, or fighting hard not to look at her at all. Ginny found herself one of the former and thought Pansy looked like a pressed flower: fragile and caught in time. An intense urge to protect the lone Slytherin made her break the silence.</p><p>“Then maybe… maybe it’s that the new Death Eater Wannabes are pureblood kids, er, high on the power of their privilege?” Ginny felt ideas bombarding her hard from every direction that she found it difficult to express her thoughts. She hated how everything she said came out as questions, but kept speaking despite being unsure. “Maybe they’re scared too? Afraid of not living up to familial expectations, or maybe afraid of losing their privilege?”</p><p>“That’s right, Ginny,” Arthur congratulated her, making her feel like a stupid child stating the obvious. “It’s a scarcity mindset that hurts them. Unlike us, they don’t know that you don’t need peacocks and diamonds to be happy. And remember, those rich, young wizards are disenfranchised and traumatized too. In their own way.”</p><p>“Well!” Hermione huffed. “Forgive me if I don’t feel sorry for them! It’s one thing to be tragically caught in the middle of a war, but a completely different thing to seek out and form supremacist groups. But honestly, either way, there’s no excuse for being hateful.”</p><p>Ginny spared Pansy a watchful glance and was impressed to see that her manner was relaxed. She was nodding in agreement even.</p><p>“Problem is, these kids are all prepared to cast a Killing Curse,” Harry added, practicality in his voice. Ginny recognized that fighting voice from before Harry left. It made her miss him all over again. “They’re young, unpredictable, and dangerous. ”</p><p>“But so are those dragons that you love so much,” Ron said, redirecting the conversation with a grin. Ginny sighed with relief. Yes, dragons are always a favorite topic of conversation in their family. Hermione had a tendency of bringing up Gringotts and Ron had a way of mentioning Hagrid. It was soothing and familiar.</p><p> Even Pansy had something to add due to Draco’s obsession with dragons when he was seven years old. Ginny had never pictured Draco as a child and it led her to picture Pansy as a child and what a spoiled brat she must have been. She softened with a smile, watching Pansy cut her chicken into tiny pieces. Ginny knew that she always cut her food into tiny bites. She knew that Pansy drank her wine in large gulps.</p><p>Next to her, she felt Harry’s soften too in reaction to the stories of little Draco’s dragon obsession. She didn’t have to look at him to know he had a lovesick look on his face. They must have gotten past the trouble about Draco’s engagement but she had no idea how. Ginny wondered if Harry was considering staying in England, but knew better to pry, as Harry had always been a very private person.</p><p>Her mum’s recipes were a success as usual, and Ginny was glad to see her lean back with her feet up while those who hadn’t cooked cleaned up. After a moment however, her mum burst up to plate the little cakes she had made for dessert. This left Ginny and Pansy sitting alone at the table. Pansy casually avoided Ginny’s gaze, and Ginny watched her pale fingers absently twirling her wand.</p><p>“I know you didn’t want me to stay and eat with you,” Pansy said to the wall. “I just thought I’d enjoy your mum’s cooking.”</p><p>“Did you? Enjoy it?” Ginny asked, trying and failing to read Pansy’s nonchalant expression. </p><p>“Yes, I did. I told her so.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“I suppose in this type of situation one offers to help clean up?” Pansy asked half-heartedly.</p><p>“Nah,” said Ginny, leaning her elbow on the table. “We helped cook and I’m pretty sure mum can handle plating cake. We’d just get in the way.”</p><p>Pansy didn’t say anything for a moment and the silence stretched taut.  Ginny was desperately wishing that somebody would come and join them. Then Pansy gracefully broke the silence.</p><p>“You need to remember to ask Granger about how to filter your owls so you stop getting hate mail.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah.”</p><p>“Really,” Pansy continued. “An owl was here for you this morning while you were at the stadium and it wouldn’t go away. Aggressive bird.”</p><p>“Oh. I hope it didn’t annoy you too much.”</p><p>“No,” Pansy said, smirking, “I just took the letter, burnt it, and sent the owl on its merry way. You’re welcome.”</p><p>“It’s illegal to burn somebody else's mail,” Ginny scolded.</p><p>“You're right, let’s not tell Longbottom.”</p><p>“I always burn them too.”</p><p>“They’re your letters, cupcake, you’re perfectly entitled,” Pansy still wasn’t looking Ginny in the eye but her lips twitch with the hints of a smirk. “But what can I say? Nothing burns as well as a letter. I, too, have practice with that.”</p><p>“Yeah, one of the few letters I opened knew how to burn me too. I don’t feel bad about not reading them.” Ginny leaned forward, wanting Pansy to look at her. The others were pouring themselves small after dinner ports, so Ginny reached out her hand, palm up, to Pansy. Reading the other girl’s confusion, Ginny made it more obvious that she was <i>not </i>in fact reaching out to hold hands. Because, Ginny insisted internally, that would make absolutely<i> no </i>sense. </p><p>Ginny pointed to the scarred skin that remained between the freckles on her hand where hatemail had burned her. “See? Nasty little jinx.”</p><p>She’d gotten that mail the same morning she was hungover and rekindling her hatred for Pansy. But now, as Pansy’s dark eyes moved along her skin, the intense gaze tickled.  After those post-coital nightmare flash-backs, Ginny had decided to hate Pansy again for a valid reason. But she must have decided not to hate Pansy in the first place for a reason too, right? Or maybe, Ginny mused,  it had very little to do with deciding at all.</p><p>***</p><p>Ginny is holding up her arm and showing me a burn that she must have gotten on the same day that she decided she hated herself for being with me. I imagine it wasn’t the best morning of her life.</p><p> </p><p> “See? Nasty little jinx,” she says, gesturing to her scar. “Just a nice little daily reminder of how homophobic some sports fans are. Fight fire with fire, though, right?”</p><p>I reach for her hand to look closer. Her hand is warm and dry and the back is so soft with tiny light hairs even though the palm is rough and calloused. In the tiny kitchenette her family is engaging in loud conversation and very slowly returning to sit down. They’re not paying any attention to us.</p><p>“I don’t understand why anybody would ever do this to you,” I say quietly, running my fingers gently over the scar. I finally let my eyes slowly rise to hers: in for a knut in for a galleon, right? </p><p>“Prejudice, I guess,” Ginny says softly. She is looking at me with soft eyes.  She’s letting her hand drape around mine. I’m not breathing. The loud room feels quiet to us right now. “You know all about that, don’t you?”</p><p>Suddenly angry, I make to pull my hand away but she stops me, and clasps onto it.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says to me. <i>She</i> says, to <i>me</i>. She caresses my knuckle with her thumb, slowly shooting sparks of energy through me. She’s leaning toward me slowly, eyes resting on my lips.  </p><p>I don’t know what to say and if we hold hands any longer I think even those oblivious cleaning Gryffindors will notice. Before I pull my hand out of her grip, I give a quick squeeze.</p><p>“What are you two doing?” Ron accuses us with a sideways glance.</p><p>“She was showing me a scar courtesy of Rita Skeeter’s readers,” I reply with an impressively flat voice. “I was telling her that<i> you</i>” I nod at Hermione “ought to teach her that hate mail filtering charm Harry mentioned.”</p><p>This, of course, directs the conversation quickly as Hermione fusses over a month-old minuscule burn, Arthur and Ron angrily discuss how to end Skeeter, and Harry reminds them that Hermione had put a leash on Skeeter over a decade ago. Harry makes a good point, and Hermione reassures everybody that she will be having a word with a certain beetle. I don’t really understand what she means about a beetle, but whatever. Ginny was just holding my hand. I’m having cake with her family and she was caressing my hand, looking at my lips. Fuck.</p><p>Molly Weasley is looking at me sideways with narrowed eyes. Her facial expression reads <i>‘I know exactly what you’re up to.’</i>She must have noticed me holding hands with her daughter, and probably also noticed that ridiculously transparent look of desire Ginny unwittingly directed at me. Somehow, I think, Molly’s look isn’t so much angry as it is an unspoken warning. A warning is almost like an approval though, right?</p><p>Why would she approve? These Weasley women, I just don’t understand them. For heathen’s sake, Ginny went from saying that I know a lot about prejudice (fair, but ouch) to grabbing my hand in hers (that tease!) Oh, but these cakes that Molly has made for us are warm and absolutely delicious… just like Ginny. Shit.</p><p>***</p><p>“Oh Ginny, you don’t know how much we appreciate this,” Fleur gushed, placing three year old Dominique down to stand on the forest floor. The three of them had just finished up food cart kabobs when Bill sent a patronus to inform Fleur that he wouldn’t make it home to take care of his daughter. He’d said something about a curse that had dragged him to Madrid and that there were no more portkeys back to England for the rest of the night.</p><p>Fleur had freaked out into mother mode, problem solving because she was needed at Gringotts. Ginny had just switched out with Mr Gibble for recording for the night, and had most of the day free, so she immediately offered to babysit her little niece.  </p><p>“Alright, Dominique,” Fluer said, kneeling down to catch her daughter who had been twirling in circles, looking at the sky. “You’re going to spend the next six hours with Auntie Ginny, does that sound fun?”</p><p>“Oui oui!” squealed Dominique, wobbling over to wrap her arms around Ginny’s legs. Fleur stood back up, flipping her blonde hair out of her face.</p><p>“I just have a short meeting with the other move-by-move commentators for probably under an hour, at 4:30,” Ginny told Fleur, “Maybe Gaby could take over for a bit… I’m pretty sure she’s not supposed to be up in the box until nighttime. She loves to work evening shifts, she’s always a hit at their socialite parties up in the Top Box. Or maybe mum and dad, we’ll figure something out.”</p><p>“Thank you so much.” Fleur nodded with a smile. “I hate to leave her with you so suddenly, but I work in half an hour and I must go change robes for work.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it.” Ginny leaned down to scoop up her niece and swing her upside down, eliciting giggles. “We’ll have lots of fun. What time do you think you’ll be back?”</p><p>“Not, until 10pm” Fluer told her apologetically. “We’ll pay you of course.”</p><p>“Don’t be silly, I have a job and you don’t pay an auntie babysitter. I always love having Domi over.” Ginny sat the gigging child on her hip. “When’s bedtime? Remind me of any dietary restrictions?”</p><p>“Bedtime is seven, and she usually sleeps like a log.” Fleur grabbed some coins from her purse. “Here, there’s a pizza pop up down near campsites 1-10. They’ll have broomstick delivery even. No dietary restrictions, but I’d love it if she got some vegetables, even if they are layered between cheese and bread.”</p><p>Then they exchanged kisses and good byes and Ginny nostalgically remembered a time when she’d only called Fleur “Phlegm.” Though she hadn’t realized it at the time, some of the resentment had actually been due to her misunderstood crush on the beautiful girl. Upon realizing and moving past that awkward revelation, Ginny quickly became Fleur’s friend. </p><p>It’s a wonder how nobody noticed her reaction to the Veelas at the World Cup when she was thirteen: but everybody but Hermione (probably a Kinsey 1 or 100% Ace in an alternate universe, definitely demi) reacted to them. It dawned on Ginny in her early 20s that even her mum would’ve engaged in a little bit of lady love were it weren’t for Dad. Ginny didn’t want to explore the concept in depth though.</p><p>Then Fluer was gone and Ginny had a bright eyed, light haired, stupidly cute little girl hanging on her arm and speaking to her in incomprehensible French.</p><p>“Okay, Domi,” Ginny said, giving the little girl an extra swing so that her feet lifted from the ground a bit. “Read to see a Prophet Tent?”</p><p>“Tent! Oui! Play tent?” Domi agreed. </p><p>“Sure, we can play tent,” Ginny said. “Or, yes it is a ‘play tent’ as in you play with it? Or maybe, you think the <i>Prophet</i> Tent a play tent? In which case, no mate, it’s a real tent.”</p><p>“We play tent!” Domi giggled. Ginny giggled back and guided them both away from the food carts and to the tent. </p><p>Although it was warm out the sky was grey and hinted at some June rain. Was it already halfway through June? Still, it looked like there might be drizzles; might be a day to play inside. When they walked past the Top Box Kitchen tent they spotted Gabrielle and the seeker Antinanco Bravo speaking to a young man that Ginny didn’t know.</p><p>“Gaby, hey!” Ginny greeted her friend, “ You’re exactly who I was hoping to see. And hello Antinanco, how are you doing?”</p><p>“Good afternoon, Ginny,” Gabrielle and Antinanco took turns kissing her cheek in greeting. Gabrielle swooped down to cover the little girl with kisses.“<i>Et ma nièce! Bonjour mon cheri!</i>” </p><p>“So I was wondering what you’re up to at 4:30 to about 5:30? It’s just I’m kind of on last minute Domi-duty and have a meeting. Think you could pop over for a while?”</p><p>“Of course,” Gaby smiled, patting Domi as she wrapped tiny arms around Gaby’s long legs. “Ant and I were just gathering a light tea and bakery and had plans to traipse around camp for a bit. Then I’m working at nine.”</p><p>“Perfect,” Ginny said. Gaby’s fluttering eyes were not so subtly informing Ginny of her risqué intentions for her afternoon with the international quidditch player. Ginny rolled her eyes, but grinned. </p><p>“Just don’t wear him out too much or I’ll blame you for this never ending game,” Ginny warned in a fake whisper.</p><p>As Gaby giggled, Ginny took a chance to look at the other young man they were with. One of the Parkinson’s caterers: Ginny recognized the uniform. For some reason he looked like he was pretending not to be terrified. It sort of wigged Ginny out for a moment, but then she put it down to the common fear people sometimes have of the famous and/or beautiful. It would be unkind to express concern. Poor bloke.</p><p>After more hugs and kisses, Domi and Ginny went back to the Prophet tent. As they neared the door they both started singing a little magic children’s tune, Ginny’s voice off key and Domi’s words incoherent. Domi had given up on the ‘play tent’ request and Ginny was feeling somewhat relieved. </p><p>“Oh, hey Pansy,” Ginny said as they arrived inside the tent. Pansy looked up and Ginny took a moment to admire the other woman’s collar bones jutting sharp and exposed above a sheer black shirt. She pleaded with her eyes not to stare at Pansy’s dark lips or visible black bra and instead forced her eyes to the choker around Pansy’s neck. It didn’t help much.</p><p>Ever since Pansy’s attendance at dinner with the Golden Trio and Ginny’s parents two days ago, Ginny noticed how the tension between her and her roommate had changed. Ginny had never gone further into her half-assed apology, and Pansy continued to antagonize her with pet names. </p><p>The worst part was that Ginny secretly liked when Pansy called her ‘sugar blossom’ or ‘pumpkin butt” and she especially liked “gingersnap.” Except <i>no</i> she didn’t like it at all. Well… except maybe the worst part: that undeniable want to bite Pansy’s dark lips, to wrap her fingers around Pansy’s thin, tattooed arms, to press their bodies together...</p><p>Again, rush of thoughts and feelings? Fraction of a second. Hardly something to worry about. Undeniable? No, of course Ginny could deny it. Ginny rolled her shoulders to dispel her tension. Dominique was hiding behind her legs, peeking around her side to look at Pansy. To be fair, it’s not just three year olds that Pansy can intimidate.</p><p>“Scores up to 3200/2800 to Chile, seekers continuing to fail us.” Ginny let her know by way of greeting, even though she knew Pansy didn’t care about the score. She turned on the wireless kettle. “Domi, this is Pansy.”</p><p>Domi didn’t come out from behind Ginny’s robes, but that was fine. Ginny looked around the tent for things with which to entertain a small child. Domi however, had no difficulty finding entertaining things. Almost immediately she went to Ginny’s broom flying kit, opening a box which contained active bludgers and a snitch. They were all strapped down of course. But Ginny could just imagine tiny fingers attempting to play with the straps.</p><p>So Ginny scooped up the little girl. Domi’s chubby little arms reached out to the box, and she whinged: “I want to play Kiddich!”</p><p>“Nope, not now” Ginny laughed. “Maybe in eight years. So,” she turned to Pansy, closing the box “what are you up to, then?”</p><p>Pansy gestured vaguely and Ginny saw that she had up her easel and held a paintbrush in her hands. Domi also seemed to notice the paints and dirty jar of water that sat on the tall table where Pansy sat. She was perched on a high stool, right by the large window so natural light shone on her easel. Ginny didn’t fail to notice the way the sunlight made Pansy’s pale skin glow. Her arms were bare and her delicate tattoos were on display, the dark ink teaming up with her espresso colored eyes to contrast her light complexion. It was warm in the tent and her legs were exposed as well and Ginny remembered the way that Pansy’s ankles had looked wearing ridiculous rainbow pumps.</p><p>“Paint! I want to paint!” Dominique graciously interrupted Ginny’s lusty train of thought. Dominique, it seemed, was quickly overcoming her shyness of Pansy. She waddled over to Pansy’s art table and began knocking brushes to the ground.</p><p>Ginny began to tell Domi, ‘sorry, but no, those are Pansy’s paints’, but Pansy interrupted her. </p><p>“Would you like to share my paint?” she offered, directly addressing the small child, who suddenly had become shy again. Pansy hadn’t used a baby voice at all.</p><p>“Here,” Pansy said. “I’ll just <i>otim accersi</i>. “</p><p>A very small wooden easel appeared next to Pansy’s who taped down what appeared to be high quality watercolor paper for Domi. Pansy tilted her head, assessing the wide eyed child. Then she turned around wordlessly and went to her bedroom. Before Ginny had time to wonder, Pansy returned with a shirt covered in paint, in one hand and a pair of shears in the other. </p><p>“What are you…” Ginny trailed off as she and Dom looked, dazed, as Pansy cut into the shirt efficiently without concern  for precision. She used a bit of fabric that she’d cut off as a very small waist belt. </p><p>“Here,” Pansy placed what Ginny guessed was a makeshift smock for a 3 year old onto the arm of a chair. She continued to address Domi, “wear it if you like. Do you know how to paint with watercolors?” </p><p>“Auntie,” Domi said looking up at Ginny. “Panny nice?”</p><p>“Yeah, Domi, she’s very nice. She’s safe,” Ginny said, reassuring the 3 year old. She felt Pansy’s gaze press into her and swallowed. “Would you like to paint?”</p><p>“<i>Je veux peindre!</i>” Domi giggled and ran clumsily at the chair to grab the smock.</p><p>“She says she wants to paint,” Pansy informed Ginny. She leaned back to her own painting and casually asked, “So, who is this small human that I’m painting with?” </p><p>“Dominique is Fleur and Bill’s daughter. Something came up last minute and they needed somebody to take her for the rest of the day.”</p><p>“Ah,” Pansy said vaguely, not looking up from her easel. </p><p>Ginny helped her niece get set up with paints and water and sat on the couch, watching bright colors mix together on the paper.</p><p>“I’d offer you paints as well, Weasley,” Pansy drawled, “but we all know poorly you and crafts mix.”</p><p>“I’m happy to supervise.” Ginny grinned, going to collect her forgotten but still hot water. “Would you like some tea? Or coffee rather.”</p><p>“Can’t. Won’t be able to sleep later tonight.”</p><p>“Well, how about peppermint tea, then?” Ginny offers pouring herself a cup of tea, two large scoops of sugar and a splash of cream. Pansy shrug-nods and so Ginny pours a second cup and offers Dominique pumpkin juice. </p><p>“I didn’t know that you don’t sleep well,” Ginny said, handing her peppermint tea. “You’re always less alive than inferi in the morning. That is heavily asleep.”</p><p>“Well, pumpkin butt,” Pansy shrugs, “I suppose it’s the transition from wakefulness to sleep and back that’s tedious. Once you’re in a certain state, it’s much easier to just stay there.”</p><p>“Yeah or you’re a vampire,” Ginny agreed, stopping dirty water from spilling everywhere thanks to a clumsy three year old. Domi was focused on painting -as focused as three year olds can be at least. Ginny was attempting to be subtle about looking over Pansy’s shoulder.</p><p>Most of the paper was still light, soft pinks and tans, fine lines and lots of tiny brown flecks. Leaning forward she realized she was looking at an arm grasping around a snitch. Ginny was sure the snitch would flutter around the page once the paint dried.</p><p>“You can come look at it you know.” Pansy smirked. “You don’t have to suck at hiding.”</p><p>“I’m very good at hiding, thank you.”</p><p>“A worthy skill, surely.”</p><p>“Shove off.” Ginny pushed Pansy’s shoulder, earning a glare. “Hey. Those are freckles… you know I play chaser right?”</p><p>“Presumptuous much? It’s not you.” Pansy sipped her peppermint tea. “Lots of people have freckles.”</p><p>“Uh huh,” said Ginny, voice skeptical. She wasn’t sure why she was doing this to herself. It would be <i>bad</i> if Pansy was painting her again. Even if it was just her hand.  No. Plenty of people have freckles.</p><p>“Besides, you played seeker at Hogwarts. You could play any position,” Pansy continued. Ginny hated how she glowed at the subtle compliment and couldn’t respond.</p><p>“Want paint?” Domi interrupted, begging up at Ginny’s face. Ginny obliged and picked up a brush, much to the disadvisement of Pansy.</p><p>So they painted for nearly an hour before Ginny assessed Domi’s need for exercise. Pansy didn’t go with them for their walk in the woods, but she joined in for a half hour of hide and seek when they returned. (“Told you I was good at hiding.”) Thing was, even though Pansy was able to pretend that it was difficult to find a giggling toddler, she apparently couldn’t help but find legitimately stealthy places to hide herself. Considering their playing field consisted solely of their living room, Ginny was impressed, until… </p><p>“Using a disillusionment charm is definitely cheating!” Ginny reprimanded her, once Dominique finally found her pressed into a corner.</p><p>“Are we surprised at all?” Pansy smirked. “Besides, Domi here was able to find me just fine. I wonder… what does that say about you if you’re less competent than a three year old?”</p><p>“If there wasn’t a child present I’d grab my beater bat,” Ginny threatened, while Domi climbed on her shoulders.</p><p>“Oh no. This is my scared face,” Pansy said, smirking. Then she turned to the small child and asked, “Hey Domi, how do you like butterflies?”</p><p>“<i>Pampillons!</i>” Domi cheered. “Yaaay!”</p><p>So Pansy raised her wand and a dozen butterflies appeared around them. It took Domi a bit of time before she grew tired of chasing them and she plopped on her round baby bottom. When Domi told them that <i>she</i> wanted to be a butterfly, Pansy raised her wand again, but Ginny knocked her arm down quickly. Pansy just rolled her eyes, and raised her wand again.</p><p>“Salazar, Weasley, give me a little credit. <i>Accio facepaint,”</i> she said. A little pallet zoomed out of Pansy’s room. Ginny took a moment to wonder that Pansy just happened to have face paint on hand, and a second moment to wonder how on earth the two of them had ended up sitting on the floor with a tiny child.</p><p>One more, longer moment found Ginny wondering at how gently Pansy was painting Domi’s little face into a butterfly. Her elegant hands held the paintbrush the way Ginny imagined Michealangelo’s would have, and through Pansy focused expression, Ginny saw a surprising softness. </p><p>Pansy’s lip twitched up to a satisfied little smirk and Ginny watched relaxed as Dominique's little face transformed into an ornate, butterfly, her baby blue eyes fitting beautifully into the pattern of the wings. The glitter on Domi’s cheeks revealed some secret love of whimsy that must hide in Pansy’s heart.</p><p>Pansy allowed Domi to paint a very sloppy “lion” on her left shoulder, making Ginny wish for a camera.</p><p>“Paint me too?” she requested, throwing forward her calf, which was bare right beneath the baggy, denim capris.</p><p>“I don’t know that we have time for quality figure paintings, cupcake.” Pansy winked. “And do you really want to strip in front of your niece? I promise I’d pose you somewhat provocatively.”</p><p>“Oh do shut up, viper,” Ginny pushed Pansy’s shoulder, causing Domi to exclaim in indignation as she smudged yellow all down Pansy’s arm. Ginny was just glad that 3 year old brains didn’t understand words like<i> “strip</i>“ or “<i>provocative</i>” “I meant… paint something on my leg.”</p><p>“Alright, what should I paint?”</p><p>“Surprise me,” Ginny shrugged.</p><p>“You really are in a mood today,” Pansy arched her perfectly manicured eyebrows, “think you can trust me not to draw a giant cock on your leg?”</p><p>“I happen to know you aren’t so fond of those,” Ginny teased back. Thank god that Domi was young enough to not understand. She ignored the thought in her mind screaming <i>'no, of course I don’t trust you.'</i> “No lady parts either though!”</p><p>“Yes, I’ll steer away from farm animals in general. Now, don’t move your leg.”</p><p>That was how Ginny ended up almost being late for her meeting and arriving with a viper illustrated to slither around her ankle. She noticed that it matched Pansy’s own ankle snake tattoo perfectly. Besides, she’d lied; snakes could definitely be found on farms. Of course Pansy had lied. That was why Ginny absolutely did <i>not</i> fancy her.</p><p>When Ginny realized that it was 4:15, she needed to run through the woods to the media-tent to make it in time. Gaby hadn’t made it to their tent yet, but Ginny figured she had maybe miscommunicated. Maybe Gaby wouldn’t show up until exactly 4:30 (the time Ginny needed to be poised with quill and parchment in the media-tent). </p><p>Pansy stepped up, offering to keep an eye on Domi for a little bit until Gaby arrived. Ginny was so relieved she could have hugged Pansy. Could’ve done a bit more than hugging, she thought in a flash of uninvited fantasy. The paint dried and started to itch halfway through the meeting, and Ginny’s mind wouldn’t stop wandering back to the tent, wondering if Pansy was with Gaby and Domi, still playing. </p><p>The meeting was brief and Ginny returned to their tent fighting the urge to run back to the tent. She wanted to blame the antsy anticipation on having not exercised enough, but she’d gone for an hour long interval sprint at 5am that very morning. Plus the more recent jog to her meeting. Ginny wasn’t at all out of breath when she reached the tent, but upon entering she gasped.</p><p>Blankets and pillows were everywhere; draped over furniture and pulled tight under heavy books. The pillow fort was one of the most elaborate Ginny had ever seen. Domi’s high pitched giggles could be heard accompanied by a musical, peaceful laugh that Ginny almost didn’t recognize,</p><p>Slumping her messenger bag on the floor, Ginny got down on her hands and knees to crawl through the fort’s lopsided entrance. For a little bit she had to army crawl, but finally she came upon Domi’s butterfly face and several still fluttering butterflies on her blond hair. Pansy was sprawled under the tent as well, leaning against the couch. </p><p>“Hey you two,” Ginny greeted them with a smile. Domi fell over her and nearly took down a mountain of pillows with her. Pansy was prepared with a Wingardium Leviosa, however, which explained the impossible structure of the fort. “Where’s Gabrielle?”</p><p>“Tata Gab Gab n’est pas la,” Domi informed them, with an exaggerated scowl. “Big trouble!”</p><p>“She’s not here,” Pansy clarified. “She never showed up, so we made a fort. I don’t have anywhere to be tonight… so…”</p><p>Ginny looked at Pansy and envisioned her letting out that careless and musical laugh. Pansy probably would only let out that sweet sound with nobody but a toddler present. Ginny knew in that moment that she wanted to make Pansy laugh that beautifully innocent laugh again. In a friendly roommate kind of way of course, she scolded herself, throwing her attention back to her niece.</p><p>“Well…” Ginny wondered, “It’s strange for her to not show up. I mean, aside from the whole being French thing, she’s usually fairly reliable. But that’s alright, Domi, isn’t it? You had a good time with Pansy?”</p><p>“Oui oui! Play tent!” Dominique giggled, crawling off into some sort of blanket tunnel. Ginny turned back to Pansy.</p><p>“Hey, thanks,” Ginny said. “I didn’t mean to just drop you with a three year old.”</p><p>“No,” Pansy said and her bored one shoulder shrug paired with a relaxed laugh. Not the same innocent one reserved for Domi, but it still gave Ginny chills. “I don’t mind. She’s actually pretty easy for a three year old.”</p><p>“You have a lot of experience with kids?” Ginny asked, surprised.</p><p>“None at all.” She shrugged a shoulder again. “But honestly,  I’ve decided they’re easier than adults. They don’t try to read your mind so much.”</p><p>“Adults try to read your mind?” Ginny asked, keeping her ears focused for sounds of Domi-trouble. Problem was, she noticed, these forts are actually fairly easy to get stuck in. Pansy had made it barely adult sized.</p><p>“You try to read my mind all the time. Don’t deny it.”</p><p>“I most definitely deny it!” Ginny swatted at Pansy's leg. </p><p>“Well, bully for you then. My mind can be a dark and scary place.”</p><p>“Nah,” Ginny countered without thinking. “You’re not as tragic as you think you are.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Nah, not so scary either.”</p><p>“No?” Their eyes locked and there was a beat of silence. </p><p>Ginny nodded, not able to admit it out loud again. The idea that maybe she wasn’t scared of Pansy settling into place among conflicting traumatic memories. Memories that were starting to feel very far away, especially in contrast to how close she was to Pansy right now. This fort felt very small despite taking up the entire room. Domi giggled in the background and they both smiled. </p><p>“Also --and I will Avada you if you tell anyone this,” Pansy said. “But even if it weren’t for the bloodline thing… I’ve always wanted children.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Ginny smiled, her breath faltering. “Me too.”</p><p>Ginny could tell that Pansy had also stopped breathing and for a moment their little quarter of pillow fort buzzed with warm energy.</p><p>Then it was time to figure out where that tiny, blonde bugger had disappeared to. Really, one shouldn’t let them out of your sight for a moment at that age. After more <i> playing tent</i> time found the three of them hungry. Hunger had Domi displaying her first temper tantrum, undoubtedly missing her parents. </p><p>So Pansy owl-ordered a veggie pizza for them to share, and Ginny tried to distract Domi with some conjured stuffed animals. Then they ate the pizza inside of the fort, which they enlarged enough that two adult women, a three year old, and a pizza could fit more comfortably. </p><p>Pizza boxes abandoned on the floor, they dimmed the light and brought out Tales of Beedle the Bard, which Domi wouldn’t really understand but would probably enjoy anyway. Pansy picked out ‘the Hopping Pot,’ which put Domi to sleep. Ginny decided to read ‘Tale of Three Brothers’ out loud to Pansy and herself, as Domi drooled on her arm. </p><p>Before they knew it, both adult women fell asleep on the pillow covered floor, with Domi curled between them, all hidden in their pillow fort. It wasn’t until Fleur knocked gently that Ginny stirred away, finding not only Domi, but also Pansy nestled close to her. Gently she pulled her arm free and let Fleur into the tent. The French woman extracted her sleeping daughter out of the fort with practiced expertise, kissed Ginny on both cheeks, whispered many thanks and departed. Ginny found herself alone next to a pillow fort which contained a sleeping Pansy. Who knew the woman could fall asleep before midnight? </p><p>“Hey, Pansy? Domi’s gone.” Ginny crawled back into the tent and shook her awake. “Fleur just picked her up. Maybe you want to go to bed?”</p><p>“Mmph?” Pansy sleepily fluttered her eyes. “Oh, hello, gingersnap. What time is it?”</p><p>“It’s just past 10, I’ll probably go to bed soon,” Ginny informed the groggy one.</p><p>“Oh bloody hecate,” Pansy groaned, half sitting up. “I’m going to lose all of my Vampire credibility now. Falling asleep before 10? Who am I?”</p><p>“Ha!” Ginny layed back down with her head close to Pansy’s, stealing a corner of her pillow. Ginny could smell Pansy’s perfume and the lightly smokey scent of her hair. “We probably fell asleep before 8.”</p><p>“Well,” Pansy sighed and lied back down, sharing a pillow with Ginny, “I guess there’s just no redeeming myself then. Wanna read me another story, then?”</p><p>“Just one more, then we're going to bed.”</p><p>“Okay, mom.”</p><p>“So… Fountain of Faire Fortune?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Pansy shifted closer to Ginny to that the sides of their bodies were less than an inch apart. Ginny didn’t move away and her legs played with the bad idea of intertwining with Pansy’s. But Ginny’s brain overpowered any and all carnal desires. Friendly, she justified, that’s all this was. Civil. Perfectly normal to notice that Pansy kicks off her shoes wherever she likes, that she clearly has expertise in pillow forts, that she keeps face paint in her bedroom, and that she secretly wants kids. That her voice is completely different when she’s sleepy. Just normal things for a roommate to notice.</p><p>“Also, Ginny?” </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Can we keep this pillow fort up? I kind of want to live in it forever.”</p><p>“We’ll see, now be quiet. I’m reading you a story.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There you go :)<br/>Leave me some positive feedback. Merlin knows I could really use some right about now. It'd make my day. And I hope you have a lovely day! Cha!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. “this is some twisted psychology game.”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lalala lala lala here's the 11th chapter for my wonderful readers! And a big thanks to r00wscribbles for being an awesome beta.<br/>TW: The flashback includes some torture.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>June 21st, 2007</p><p>
  <i>CHILEAN MINISTER HUERTA AVADES 3RD ASASSINATION ATTEMPT!</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Last night, 6/20  Minister Marta Huerta dined in the Top Box with visiting Chilean ambassadors. Huerta was enjoying her supper up until pudding, during which she was lifted into the air, white as a ghost, and emanating dark magic. Immediately a medi-wizard appeared to perform the counter-curse, but not before Huerta’s health suffered. She will be in the medi-tent until further notice. This was the first day after her return from Santiago, Chile, where she had been conducting her country. “We are apologetic and appalled that these atrocious acts have occurred on English soil” Kingsley Shacklbolt tells me, Pansy Parkinson, the morning after. (for speculations on suspects of attempted murder see pg D1)</i>
</p><p>I wrote the article quickly at an atrocious hour of 4:30 am, upon receiving an alert from Gaby who was on call at the time. She was incredibly helpful in providing on site information as to what happened due to the fact that she’d been present for the incident. Patil’s face was frantic and her hair a mess as she showed up in our fireplace to ask me to cover the story. I wouldn’t dare question Patil’s assignment. </p><p>Unfortunate though the attempted murder of my political crush may be, it’s a journalist’s dream story. My front page article was rushed into publication by 6 in the morning, presenting a bold headline and a haunting picture of Huerta floating, cursed, in the pub tent. </p><p>As I finish up the story and rush it through the floo, Ginny comes out of her room, sleepy and curious as to what on earth could have gotten me out of bed. My blood pounds loud in my ears and not even I can feign boredom, so I tell her what has happened. Ginny, all fire and fury, tells me that she’ll join me as I observe the Aurors investigating the assasination attempt. I hesitate, but Ginny insists that, despite just being a sports journalist, she is a necessary press consultant. </p><p>Although she’s really only here for the quidditch, Patil <i>did</i> say that Longbottom would be handling the case. Ginny would be valuable as a trusted friend of the Head Auror. She reminds me that Harry Potter will inevitably involve himself regardless of the fact that he abandoned an Auror career in favor of dragon-training. And in all honesty, I can’t help but love the prospect of charging out into the sunrise with Ginny, the thrill and urgency of journalism urging us forward. So after we rush into our robes and I charm on some passable makeup, I let the wildfire that is Ginny accompany me as I storm out of the tent.</p><p>Our steps fall insync as we walk through the early morning forest to meet Longbottom at the southwest Auror station. Harry Potter is, of course, already there, wearing the most unprofessional muggle clothes I’ve ever seen, but being treated by the aurors like some sort of hero. Well, I suppose he is a hero, technically. Whatever. Ginny and I recieve warm welcomes and I immediately congratulate myself on the choice to bring her. Not that she really gave me a choice. That woman, I swear.</p><p>She’s fierce, the way she charges into a story like this. She’s fearless, the way she questions not only Potter and Longbottom, but also the rest of the Aurors as well. She demands answers while I record everything, including all the extra non-verbal keys and the uncertain silences that evade truth. </p><p>“She was only dining with her own citizens so it was likely domestic,” Longbottom says to the room. “However, there were plenty of other people in the Top Box with them. I’ve compiled a list of all witches and wizards nearby.”</p><p>“And the Goblins?” Potter asked.</p><p>“Good idea, I’ll include everyone… thought honestly I don’t think it would’ve been the Goblins,” Neville says thoughtfully, “Huerta’s effort to protect their civil liberties was received terribly by a majority of her constituents, but the Goblins seem to respect her. I bet they wish they could vote for her, even.”</p><p>“Goblins’ minds work differently, though,” Potter says darkly. “Don’t assume they think like wizards.”</p><p>I both agree and disagree with Potter, but know that I will learn more from listening than by interrupting. Ginny, I am grateful to observe, shares my priorities here… and here I thought she was Miss Contrary all the time. But no, we both suck it up and are open ears and active quills to their conversation while Potter makes unwittingly problematic statements. </p><p>“Noted,” Longbottom says. “And because it was a curse, not poison, I think that should rule out the food service workers and kitchen staff.”</p><p>“Probably,” Potter scowls. “You can never be too sure though…”</p><p>“Fair enough,” Longbottom nods again. Merlin, does anybody ever disagree with that man? “I’ll send some guys to interview them.”</p><p>“Right…” Then Harry Potter and Longbottom continue, bring up more questions than answers. Ginny pipes in a few times with her own insight. I’m very grateful for my early bedtime and pillow fort induced nap. I definitely wouldn't have the energy to listen to these self-righteous do-gooder detective-types otherwise.</p><p>“Pansy,” Ginny says, pulling me aside, “...if I’ve learned anything about Harry, it’s that there’s not much use in trying to get involved in his detective work. Also, he’s nearly always right about this kind of stuff.”</p><p>“About the supposedly nefarious Goblins?”</p><p>She just looks at me exasperated so I sigh and assess the situation. We’ve gone over on our time allowed here and the Aurors keep looking at us like we’re intruding. I have more than enough content to fill a complete follow up article, so I nod. We say our farewells before leaving the Auror station and heading back to our tent. Hecate, I need more coffee.</p><p>“You think it would be more prudent to observe and report on his progress than to step in and try at investigative journalism?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow and ignoring my nicotine craving.</p><p>“Yes, exactly,” Ginny nods, glad I seem to understand. “I know it’s tempting --”</p><p>“Darling,” I drawl, making a point of looking her up and down. “Journaling about this stuff is already pushing against my sense of self preservation. I’m really not one for playing hero.”</p><p>“Of course,” Ginny is flustered and adorable. “Of course you aren’t--”</p><p>“But you,” I tilt my head to the side and look at her, assessing, “aren’t you Gryffindor types supposed to be all about that ‘hero’s journey’?”</p><p>“What can I say?” Ginny shrugs her toned shoulders, “I’m really more of a dueling/fighting type than a Sherlock Holmes type. Besides, somebody’s gotta be ready to step up if they fail.”</p><p>“Which they won’t,” I admit, remembering something. “Not once Potter fills Granger in on the back story. Never met anyone with a bleeding heart and a remarkable brain like hers.”</p><p>Ginny nods, but there’s something in her eye that I must prod at. </p><p>“Oh don’t be jealous, sugar plum,” I say. “She’s not nearly as attractive as you are.”</p><p> I revel in the way she blushes and flutters. I’ll let her chew on that one for a bit. She says she doesn’t hate me and that she just wants to be friends, but she’s a bad liar. Even when she’s lying to herself. I really am curious to see how long it takes before she lets our undeniable chemistry outweigh her dislike of me. Again. </p><p>“Well,” Ginny says and I can tell she’s raking her jostled mind for a change of topic. “It’s  5020/4940 to England now. If either team hits 6000 we’ll be at a new World Cup Record. Usually Internationally renowned Seekers can catch a bloody snitch much quicker than this.”</p><p>“Fascinating,” I drone. “Speaking of, you headed back to the stadium now?”</p><p>“Yeah, I was going to grab some falafel on the way,” Ginny nods, clearly perking up at the mention of food. “That fancy stuff they eat in the Top Box has been really heavy and kind of breaking the bank.”</p><p>“Hecate, those Parkinson's caterers are awful, am I right?” We walk together away from the Auror station, Ginny waving bye to Potter and Longbottom, “Let me buy you lunch?”</p><p>“If you must,” Ginny shrugs. I’m winning her over, I can just tell.</p><p>***</p><p>A day later, Ginny was returning to her tent and was overcome by curiosity. Pansy had mentioned that she would be visiting her parent’s tent that evening and it only then occurred to Ginny that she’d never actually met Goneril and Iago Parkinson. It was unlikely that they would be outside their tent, but the tent itself was sure to be entertainingly extravagant on it’s own.</p><p>So she took an unfamiliar path through the woods, where the tents were unsubtle to the point of majesty. Each campsite in the forest had a little number on a post… or at least the tents of all her friends did. In this section of the forest however, numbers were covered by ornate signs with the names of pureblood and other noble or wealthy families. So the Parkinson’s campsite was easy to find with the ostentatious silver lettering and gemstone accents. </p><p>Ginny froze and felt her mouth drop open. There were three Parkinsons sitting on a decadent patio in front of the silk tent, both Goneril and Iago drinking white wine from crystal chilices. As for their daughter, well her posture was straight but elegantly relaxed and her eyes were focused, staring into empty space. </p><p>Pansy was playing a magic harp. </p><p>She was playing it very well. It was a huge instrument, but Pansy didn’t look dwarfed behind it.  No, she looked like an extension of it. Magic harps can do small spells simply by making music, all of which were generally pleasant, such as helping flowers to grow, soothing children. Ginny took a moment to ponder if Pansy was working lust spells on her, but dismissed it immediately, reminding herself that (a) Pansy hadn’t noticed her standing there, (b) any such magic would also affect Iago and Goneril, and (c ) Ginny’s feelings were not exactly unfamiliar. </p><p>Pansy’s fingers expertly plucked strings as if it was the only thing they knew how to do, and even her slow breath was dynamic and moving. Ginny didn’t recognize the classical song that Pansy was playing, but she felt like it was music she had always known. The fine hairs on her neck rose up to listen and her chest sweetly ached. </p><p>Everything about the music -about Pansy- was absolutely magical. It was undeniable, so Ginny couldn’t deny it.</p><p>Well dressed witches and wizards from other tents lounged on their neighboring patios and enjoyed the music too. At some point Ginny realized that she had been standing, frozen and staring, right in the middle of the path. Pansy clearly hadn’t seen her yet, too focused on her music. Ginny, feeling shy, tore herself away from the enchanting sound, and practically jogged down the path, before being noticed. </p><p>This image would continuously pop up in Ginny’s mind for the next few weeks. She never asked Pansy about how she’d gotten so good, or when she had started, or anything like that. She didn’t let Pansy know that she’d seen her play the harp at all, but continued to feel oddly shy.</p><p>Sometimes, she would imagine Pansy playing to small children or while floating through a starry sky. When her imagination felt especially evil she’d imagine Pansy playing the harp naked. The fact that now she and Pansy were spending more time together was definitely not helping with the ‘this is a normal friendly roommate situation’ story Ginny had been telling herself. Before bed, while Ginny boiled water for tea, she’d find her eyes drifting over to Pansy who unwinded by drawing in her sketchbook. Her mind kept imagining her roommate drawing naked, covered in those colorful chalks she’d been using lately. What would their tent feel like if Pansy’s art covered all the walls and her harp music filled the air? </p><p>Sometimes, Ginny had half a mind to kiss her. To push her against a wall and find all the places where their skin could touch. If they were drinking more, she was certain she would do just that. But how could Ginny try anything when the last time they drunkenly hooked up… well, Ginny had really made a mess of it. She couldn’t possibly go back after that and try again, could she? Ginny sometimes tried not to be a total twat. Pansy’s flirting was most likely just another Slytherin way to torture her, not to encourage her. She could just imagine kissing Pansy who would just pull away and laugh at her. Merlin, she hadn’t felt this shy since her crush on Harry at the age of 11 but didn’t know why. She wasn’t <i>intimidated</i> by Pansy.</p><p>There was no reason to be. A real relationship would never in a million years work, and Ginny wouldn’t even play with that absurd idea. Completely incompatible. Ginny had a small hunch though, that Pansy wanted to be friends. That was what Ginny had said she wanted in the first place: ‘friendly and mature.’ Ginny was finally forced to admit to herself that she would have prefered to be lovers…</p><p>But still,  she mostly blamed that on the magic harp. </p><p>***</p><p>
  <i>I’m walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, Daphne on my right side, Millicent on my left. We’re hunting together, but with the laziness of well fed dogs. There’s no pressure on us at all because we know how unlikely it is that any of Dumbledore’s Army will be out and about this time of day. They nearly always lurk around at night, trying to paint propaganda messages on the walls or rescue Undesirable underclassmen from the kind of detentions that would make Umbridge look soft.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Somehow, though, they’ve given up sneaking to the kitchens. I imagine them huddled together in a tiny room, shrunken with malnutrition and mourning for their short-lasting freedom. Daphne makes a joke about how bad it must smell in that room they’re all cooped up in. Millicent’s low voice pulls a laugh out of me as she wonders about their bathroom situations.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Don’t be dense,” Daphne says, laughing. Her hand brushes mine and I feel incredibly cool. “It’s a room of requirement, Draco said. I’m sure it can supply toilets.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Also, ew!” I exclaimed, pulling the two girls forwards. I squeeze Daphne’s arm a bit too tight, almost hurting her, like I know she likes. I’m thinking about when she and I can be alone next.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But then that’s when I see him. A young boy, the younger Creevy I think? He’s huddling behind a stone pillar, not moving a muscle, clearly terrified out of his wits.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>At that moment, it occurs to me that I could ignore him. Pretend not to see him. I don’t do that though. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Isn’t that the ickle Creevy kid?!” I shriek and point. He’s looking for an escape route but I know we have him cornered. “Milly, go get one of the Carrows. We’ll keep him here.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Hey!” Millicent started indignantly, “why should I miss the fun? Daphne, you go.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“As if.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Stop bickering,” I command. They obey and I feel the satisfaction of their obedience somewhere in my pelvis. I look down at Creevy. “Oh, look, the little mudblood is shaking. Think he’s going to cry?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>They laugh because it’s true. He’s the prey we were so lazily looking for. So, ignoring the duty to report to the Carrows or Snape, we stay together to torment him a bit first. We put him in a body bind, but release him after a moment because he wouldn’t be able to physically react the way we want him to. So then we trap him in ropes and I throw about 20 stinging hexes at him. He winces and jerks around but stays quiet. I see from a bit of red on his lips that he’s bit his tongue. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Nice one, Pans,” Daphne says appreciatively. “Look, he’s got welts all over his pasty dirty skin.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Should I leave a little scar on his face?” I ask, drunk with power. “Maybe on his forehead so he can look like his Absentee Savior?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>My friends laugh like hyenas as I pull so much heat into my wand that when I press the tip to his forehead he cries out. I press harder, encouraged by Daphne and Milly’s glee. When I finally pull away I see a huge blister forming. It’s impossible to describe the feeling.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I let Daphne and Millicent take their turns as I examine my hot pink fingernails. I can’t remember his first name but I don’t really care. It’s high energy boredom that has me finally sending for the Carrows. My mind returns to getting Daphne alone again and I’m relieved when the Carrows arrive. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>The two adult Death Eaters are full of malicious glee and they can’t wait to torture information out of the little boy in private, so they cast the crucios right there in the hallway. Right in front of us. The Creevy boy screams and writhes around on the floor.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I turn my attention to Daphne, intending to communicate nonverbally that maybe we should sneak off. But what I see in her face freezes all the heat of the manic power that had been fueling me before. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Daphne is pale, and her blue eyes are wide. She can’t look at the boy, and she’s not looking at me either. Her shoulders are hunched and she’s gritting her teeth in a way that I can tell means she’s holding back tears. I reach out a hesitant hand out to touch brush against her wrist. Nobody is looking, and I link my fingers with hers. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>She turns up to look at me and with her wide eyes she tells me that this is wrong. Even she, who had just been bullying the kid right alongside me, she knows this is wrong. The castle starts to shake and stones fall all around us, Creevy’s screams echo among the sounds of crashing rocks. I’m unsteady. I’m falling. Daphne’s horror struck face floats in front of me and Ginny’s voice calls out from within me:</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“This is so fucking wrong.”</i>
</p><p>I jolt up, awake in the tent and covered in cold sweat. Hogwarts castle is now far away, but I still feel like I’m falling. Like I can’t breathe. My shoulders are tense with shame-laden heat and I might puke. I pull my hair and try to slow my breathing but it doesn’t work well.</p><p>I turn to my bedside table (which has become just as messy as the one in my empty Chelsea flat) and knock things over, desperately looking for a calming drought. There’s nothing there, I must be out. I vaguely remember Draco telling me something about how I need to work on regulating my emotions naturally before allowing myself a calming draught.  Fucking prat. That’s like, effort. </p><p>Besides, let’s be real. I <i>should</i> feel this way. Those things<i> should </i>haunt me for the rest of my life. I’m going out for a cigarette.</p><p>I grab my pack and leave my room with every intention of storming directly out of the tent, but I stop when I see Ginny curled up like a cat on the couch, letting Arnold IV roll around on her lap. She looks up at me inquisitively and I don’t meet her eyes. She shouldn’t look at me. Nobody should ever look at me. </p><p>And to think that just days ago I thought I had any right to flirt with her. In a cute little snuggly pillow fort. With a sleeping three year old and bedtime stories. Have I completely forgotten who I am?</p><p>“Pansy?” she asks, curiosity turning to concern. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing,” I lie. “What are you doing up?”</p><p>“I just got done with my shift at the match, you knew I was working late tonight. I was about to go to bed.” She stands up, holding Arnold in her palm. “You’re all pale. More so than usual, I mean. And you’re shaking.”</p><p>She steps toward me, a hand stretched out. I step away instinctively, pulling my arms up around myself as if it’s cold. </p><p>“I was just going out for a smoke,” I say. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“Did you have a nightmare?” Ginny says quietly. “I have those too sometimes.”</p><p>“No, I said it’s fine,” I say and I can’t stand her looking at me like that. So kind… like we’re friends. I turn away from her and duck out through the door and pace back and forth in front of my favorite smoke break tree. It takes a couple tries to like my cigarette because my hands refuse to stop shaking. Stupid pathetic hands. </p><p>After I finish one, I light a second. I enjoy the knowledge that it shortens one’s life. I think it’s appropriate that it makes my hair stink and my teeth yellow. Eventually my pacing subsides, and I lean against my tree and look up. It’s a new moon, and the stars are bright.</p><p>“Hey, Pansy?” Ginny says hesitantly from the tent door. I still can’t look at her, but she deserves a response.</p><p>“Hi Ginny,” I say to the stars.</p><p>“I, um, I brought you tea,” she holds out a large, steaming mug. “Chamomile.”</p><p>“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell her. She steps closer to me and I can imagine that she’s smiling gently at me.</p><p>“Of course not,” she agrees. “I never have to do anything. I just… Merlin Pansy, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“You shouldn’t be so nice to me,” I tell her. But she’s holding that mug and it must be hot, so I relieve her of it, glancing down from the stars so I don’t spill. “We’re being friendly, but don’t worry. We’re not friends.”</p><p>I can tell, even in my peripheral vision that her feelings are hurt and shame boils up around me. <i>This is so fucking wrong</i>, she had said. She shouldn’t forget that. She was right.</p><p>“Oh, stop being so emo,” Ginny says, attempting light playfulness but abandoning it quickly. Full of sincerity, she says, “Okay, I get it. You don’t want to talk about it. It’s just… you know, if you do want to… I’m here, right?”</p><p>I don’t know how to respond to this, but my gratitude for her offer of support is shadowed by my obnoxious and relentless feelings of timeless guilt. I sip the tea, to show her my appreciation. Really, chamomile and tobacco don’t pair well.</p><p>“You couldn’t have turned this into a hot toddy?” I ask.</p><p>“No, I’ve heard one shouldn’t drink when they’re sad.” </p><p>I don’t answer and so she reaches out one hand to touch my arm with a gentle squeeze. My chest aches at the same time that I am soothed.</p><p>“I’ll leave you alone now,” says Ginny. Those words spark so many feelings and I’m speechless again. “G’night, Pansy.”</p><p>I nod in the darkness. She pauses before going back inside and reaches inside her pocket for somebody small, pink, and fluffy.</p><p>“One more thing: Arnold told me that he wanted to spend some time with you.” She places the Pygmy Puff on my shoulder. “He’s maybe feeling a bit sad and would like for you to hold him for a bit.”</p><p>He nuzzles my neck and emits a soft humming sound. It is undeniably comforting and gratitude rips through a small bit of my shame. I toss out my cigarette to avoid subjecting the poor fluffball to second hand.</p><p>“Don’t be a sap,” I say. In my mind I say thank you.</p><p>“No worries,” she says like she can read my mind. “‘Night.”</p><p>My roommate/hopeless crush/sort of friend returns to the tent and I stay with my scotch-free tea, pygmy puff, and favorite tree. I let the darkness and chamomile soothe me and when I return to bed I’m able to very slowly fall back asleep. Arnold IV stays with me, sleeping on my pillow. Waking up will suck, but I’m willing to do it. So that’s something.</p><p>***</p><p>The next day Ginny returned from the stadium with little more than a score update and a sunburn. Harry and Neville, with his team of Aurors, had nothing to tell her about Minister Huerta’s attempted asassination, but Ginny was pleased to see that Harry was getting wrapped up in the mystery of it all. It was nice to see him like his old self.</p><p>It was early evening and she knew for a fact that Pansy wouldn’t be going to the Top Box until after sunset. The thought of Pansy awake and alone in their tent spurred Ginny forward. All day long, Ginny couldn’t get the recent memory of a panic stricken Pansy stumbling out of her bed so late the other night. </p><p>So she let out a relaxed little exhale when she spotted Pansy in their tent, freshly dressed and drinking a large cup of coffee. The witch was leaning against their counter and a less recent (and certainly less decent) memory flashed through Ginny’s poorly tamed mind. But now Pansy was reading a newspaper with Spanish headlines.</p><p>“You just get up?” Ginny asked, swinging her bag heavily onto the sofa. </p><p>“Just long enough ago to have enjoyed one and a half cups of coffee,” Pansy replied, not lifting her eyes from her paper. </p><p>“Oh,” Ginny smiled and walked right over to Pansy in order to lean against the counter as well. “I just switched out for play by play reporting and I’m pretty beat.”</p><p>Pansy barely granted her a nod.</p><p>“And sunburnt,” Ginny continued, hoping Pansy might look up. “See? It’s been really sunny today.”</p><p>“Thrilling,” Pansy replied, dully. “I will take extra care while applying my sun protection charm.”</p><p>“Well,” Ginny said, growing frustrated by Pansy’s limited interest in interaction, and transfixion on her foreign newspaper. “Considering you don’t work until late you won’t really need it… unless you want to go out with me now for a bit?”</p><p>Pansy looked up at her through heavy lids, betraying nothing. </p><p>“Go where?” she asked. “I have to get to work in a few hours. Maybe find one of your little friends?”</p><p>“Don’t be an asshole.” Ginny put an arm on her hip. “We could just walk around the woods? Maybe hang out in that clearing by the water pumps-”</p><p>“The one that’s always full of Hogwarts-aged boys?” Pansy scoffs. “Hard pass.”</p><p>Ginny grabbed Pansy’s newspaper, forcing the moody journalist to look at her. When Pansy aquessed, something clicked as their eyes met, just like it always did.</p><p>“Okay.” Ginny smiled, close to her and resisting leaning even closer. “Where would you like to go?”</p><p>“Fine,” Pansy sighed, acting every part the bored babysitter. Ginny knew better though… she saw the intensity in those eyes and every part of Ginny wanted to understand her. Pansy dropped her paper carelessly, finished her coffee, and exited the tent without another word. Ginny followed eagerly.</p><p>She wanted to understand how Pansy could go from butterfly-summoning-goddess-of-childcare Pansy to chain-smoking-crazy-brains Pansy so naturally. Moreover, Ginny wanted to understand why both of those Pansy’s were so enticing to her, not in spite of her inconsistencies, but because of them. </p><p>So Ginny followed Pansy through the crowds, and trees, until the people started to thin out, and the soft hum of insects could be heard more readily than the hum of humanity’s chatter. They didn’t talk as Pansy led her to a patch of green where the underbrush was thick. Ginny began to trip over a low branch, but Pansy caught her hand so she wouldn’t fall. Again, they made eye contact, and the spark that ensued was accompanied by something that Ginny dared to identify from Pansy as a tentative smile.</p><p>After some jostling through foliage, Ginny found herself at the edge of a small creek. Pansy sat on a large, rounded rock that she’d clearly sat on before. Ginny breathed in the fresh air and listened to the sounds of moving water, before she found herself a seat of a little mossy log. The log was perched close to the water, so she kept her red chucks safely tucked against her butt. </p><p>This was a widening of the creek, she noticed, that was held by a little beaver dam, keeping the water high. This particular spot had Ginny guessing that if she dipped in it would’ve come up past her shoulders. However, while it was just still early summer, it hadn’t reached the peaks of July or August that inspired impromptu swimming.</p><p>“Well,” she began, “this is nice…”</p><p>“Look.” Pansy’s voice told Ginny that she wasn’t about small talk. “I need to explain some things--”</p><p>“You don’t have too--”</p><p>“Don’t interrupt me.” </p><p>Ginny stopped herself from arguing and humored the other witch. To be fair, she had been the one suggesting they spend time together when Pansy was clearly in a mood. She just hadn’t necessarily been expecting the whole--</p><p>“We can talk about everything now,” Pansy said. “It’s more work to avoid it all.”</p><p>“Everything?”</p><p>“Everything,” Pansy insisted. </p><p>“Now?”</p><p>“Now. There’s clearly too much history between us for us to get over, yet you keep insisting on us being friends…”</p><p>“<i>I</i> keep insisting?!” Ginny said, outraged.</p><p>“Dinner with your family? Babysitting your niece? Brew tent with Draco and Scarface? Insisting I stop reading my paper to hang out with you right now?” Pansy prompted. “Yes, <i>you</i> keep insisting on us being friends. Yet…”</p><p>Ginny stared at Pansy’s lips, waiting for her next words. She didn’t stop to appreciate that the mosquitoes weren’t hatched yet; didn’t stop to feel the sunburn peeling on her arms. She was listening now. She wasn’t going to interrupt.</p><p>“Yet,” Pansy repeated,” you don’t trust me. Don’t really like me. You can’t get over some bullshit that happened when we were both relying on entirely underdeveloped reasoning skills and faulty comprehensions of an incredibly complex society. Shit, Ginny, you’re stuck in the traumatized brain of a 16 year old.”</p><p>“I resent that!” </p><p>“I’m not done talking, Miss Weasley. Please, do raise your hand if you have any concerns.” </p><p>Ginny ressisted responding with a <i>“yes ma’am,”</i> but only just. Her tense fingers grabbed the mossy log she sat on. Again, she reminded herself that she has instigated this hang sesh. Granted she’d been thinking a bit more <i>‘who’s trying to kill Huerta’ </i>and a little less <i>‘lets dig into the clusterfuck that is us.”</i> Really though, Ginny would’ve been happiest with a <i>‘let’s talk shit about nothing old pal, good chap!”</i></p><p>Or, as her treacherous mind provided: <i>‘we don’t have to talk about anything at all, Pansy, shhhh…” </i></p><p>“So.” Pansy was clearly reeling herself up for something heavy so Ginny followed in suit. “I guess… spending time with you has… I think I’ve also been stuck in the traumatized brain of a teenager--”</p><p>“It’s not my fault that--”</p><p>“I didn’t see you raise your hand! Now, I was saying… Last night I dreamt about when we caught that Creevy kid… not the one that died, the younger one. We-- I was less than amicable to him. I led the Carrows to him and they tortured him and I didn’t care but then Daphne looked at me… and even then. Even when we were all in the thick of it… when I’d already been torturing children….”</p><p>She pauses and Ginny bites her tongue to keep her in the present moment. She tucks her hands under her knees so that she doesn’t raise one.</p><p>“I felt guilty… Daphne was so… she was horrified and I wasn’t until…” Then Pansy stopped talking and stared down at the water. “But now, I’m… fuck. I’ve already apologized, haven’t I?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ginny nodded. “You sort of apologized.”</p><p>“Well,” Pansy huffed, “it’s really all ancient history anyways, really.”</p><p>Then, on impulse, Ginny used all her chaser strength to push Pansy into the creek. The yelp of shock was all the reward that Ginny hadn’t prepared for. Hey, she thought to herself, impulses are there for a reason.</p><p>“Your apology,” Ginny forced the words out through laughter, “seemed to be a bit wanting.”</p><p>“YOU!” Pansy sputtered from the creek. Her professional white button up shirt was soaked all the way through, and Ginny half wondered at what she would’ve been able to see if the water weren’t up to Pansy’s neck. “Ginny. Motherfucking. Weasley. You will pay. So help me god.”</p><p>“So, you were apologizing?” Ginny teased. </p><p>“Yes, dear Hecate, gingersnap.” Pansy’s breath was shallow and shaky but Ginny couldn’t tell if that was from the cold water or emotion. “I can’t stand the memory of teenage me casting a crucio on you. I can’t stand myself. And I can tell that my boots are going to be permanently mud stained. Italian leather, Ginny. Italian leather.”</p><p>“So…” Ginny hesitated through laughter. “You’re sorry?”</p><p>“Salazar Fucking Slytherin,” Pansy panted, starting to pull herself out of the water. Meanwhile Ginny tugged off her converse. “Yes, I am sor--”</p><p>Then Ginny jumped, fully clothed, into the water next to Pansy. There was a great splash, accompanied by both young women shrieking with shock. Words like “<i>you!</i>” and “<i>bloody hell</i>” littered the air among many vulgar expletives. Ginny was pleased to see that Pansy had not left the water, regardless of the muddy cold. </p><p>“Well, this isn't so bad, is it?” Ginny grinned, splashing water around them. To her pleasure, she saw Pansy relaxing into the water. “Kind of refreshing.”</p><p>“You’re mad,” Pansy told her and she nodded. </p><p>“Aren’t we all? In a crazy way, not an angry way.” Ginny laughed. When Pansy started to get out of the water Ginny grabbed her wrist none too gently and pulled her back in. She dipped under the water to grab Pansy’s feet and tug off those Italian leather boots. The effort made them both fall over in the water, buoyant. Ginny tossed the boots to shore while Pansy unsuccessfully hid a smile. “So, when did you find this little creek then?”</p><p>“Oh, Draco showed me,” Pansy said, much more candidly after squelching her toes free. “We had a creek like this on my family’s estate where Draco and I used to go and be posh little delinquents. Water has always felt like home to me. So Draco brought me here.”</p><p>This warmed Ginny’s heart and she thought that Pansy was herself, a lot like water. </p><p>“Hey!” Ginny had a sudden idea. “Want to play two truths and a lie again? Cold water edition?”</p><p>“And it’s cold water edition because we’re… in cold water?” Pansy's voice was skeptical but she was treading water close to Ginny, their toes occasionally skimming the muddy bottom of the creek. Ginny could feel the way the water moved slowly between them and craved the warmth of Pansy’s body. She imagined for a second what it would be like to swim in this creek with a lover, how maybe they would cling to each other for warmth and balance. Those thoughts combined with her unhealthy observance of how Pansy’s dark hair stuck to her pale neck… </p><p>“Yeah,” Ginny said. “Just like that. Except, I’ll say three things about you, and I’m guessing one of them won’t be true. Yeah?”</p><p>Pansy shrugged as best she could while floating. The white fabric of her shirt swayed around her as she lifted her legs to tread water. She looked like she belonged here and Ginny didn’t regret pushing her in, even if goosebumps covered their arms. Ginny made a concentrated effort to focus.</p><p>“Okay. One: you haven’t used the Cruciatus Curse since Voldemort died, Two: those potions you take are secretly Healer-approved, Three: You want to be my friend.”</p><p>“This is some twisted psychology game you’re playing, gingersnap,” Pansy tells her. Ginny didn’t know what psychology was, but didn’t want to reveal her ignorance. “I like that. I bet you were a hat stall, weren’t you?”</p><p>“Just play,” Ginny insisted, keeping to herself that, yes, fine, she had been a bit of a hat stall.</p><p>“Whatever,” Pansy said. “That first one is true. I haven’t used the curse. I haven’t done any dark magic at all. Not only is it bad for one’s figure and reputation but it’s academically awful. Tediously boring.”</p><p>Pansy dips under the water completely, leaving Ginny unable to respond. She comes back up, black hair sticking to her skin, lashes wet, and continues:</p><p>“And again, true for the second one. Pureblood genetics mixed irresponsibly with insecure attachment and minimal emotional support during formative years produced a full blown case of witchy-madness that is best treated by regular potions and mind healer therapy.” </p><p>“Oh.” Ginny had been expecting an answer like this (Pansy was clearly mad after all) but didn’t know what to do with the answer now that she had it. Pansy didn’t seem phased though, and continued her explanation while leaning back to float in the water, looking up at the blue sky.</p><p>“A muggle girl I dated for a while” -Ginny felt a stab of unreasonable jealousy- “told me that I have bipolar. She was studying muggle mind healing. Most witches and wizards haven’t heard of ‘mental illness’ but after some research I concluded she was likely correct. I even tried muggle medicine but it didn’t work as well as the potions I take now. St Mungos prescribes them for me, but usually Draco brews them.”</p><p>Ginny still wasn’t sure what to say, but Pansy didn’t seem to require a response.</p><p>“They tell me I should do other stuff too. Talk to a healer mind healer about my feelings or whatever. But you know I’m not great at doing what I’m told. I’m also not that great at keeping a therapeutic relationship with a therapist or mind healer. They have a tendency of hating me, and I them. Surprising, right? I could never tell the muggle therapists about being a witch of course, and I’ve never felt like I could tell a magical mind healer about being a, you know… liking women. So I just do my best to supplement the potions with art and socially acceptable drugs.”</p><p>“What kind of madness? What’s...” Ginny searched for the word. “Bipolar?”</p><p>“Yeah, some people think it means I get all hot and cold with people, or change my mind a lot,” Pansy said. “But as <i>you</i> would know, one doesn’t need a mood disorder to give others emotional whiplash.”</p><p>“Okay,” said Ginny, not taking the bait. To be fair, everyone's at least a little crazy. “So what does it mean then?”</p><p>“Well, I get too hyped up sometimes.” Pansy stopped floating so she was looking at Ginny. “Like I’m invincible, impossibly sexy, and very dangerous.”</p><p>“Oh…” Ginny actually thought all that sounded like pretty reasonable ways to describe Pansy. </p><p>“Yeah, it can be fun. But it always backfires and I do something stupid and am left with a mess… It’s rash to the point of acting Gryffindor. Humiliating.” Ginny splashed Pansy for the slight against Gryffindors and earned an underwater kick. </p><p>“Then I get all mopey and remember that I’m bad but not in a sexy way. Can’t eat or get out of bed sometimes… Patil knows and has been really accommodating. I’ve lost jobs about it before… lost relationships too…” Sadness filled the air and the cold water felt especially icy. “And then there’s always my pesky sleep disorder. Those pureblood families really know how to pass it down. The potions mostly help.”</p><p>Ginny reached under the water to hold Pansy’s hand. They were swimming closer now, their legs occasionally kicking each other. </p><p>“I… well it’s not the same, but I can understand sadness. I could hardly eat for months after Fred died.”</p><p>Pansy squeezed her hand but didn’t push for more information which Ginny appreciated. She was a bit out of her depths when it came to emotional-regulatory potions and actually dealing with trauma head on. Everyone else she knew just let it fester and come out in rage, panic attacks, and in Harry’s case leaving the country to work with dragons. Or, like Lavender Brown, some people just shrunk down so far that nobody ever saw them again.</p><p>“So that third one is a lie, you smart witch.” Pansy was smirking now, and Ginny was still trying to play catch up. Oh, right. Two truths and a lie cold water edition. When Pansy splashed her with a huge sweep of water she remembered what her third option had been.</p><p>“Hey!” Ginny wiped water out of her eyes. “So you don’t want to be my friend?”</p><p>“I suppose not,” answered Pansy. “But I didn’t come up with the choices, now did I? It had to be two truths and a lie.”</p><p>Ginny had been sure that her assumptions would be true, it was a hasty plan to trick Pansy into honesty. It shouldn’t have surprised her though, that Pansy would win at that game. She wins at most games. Surely neither of them were sure of the rules anyways. While Ginny was pouting, Pansy began to pull her way out of the water, clumsily grabbing onto plants and slipping in mud. </p><p>Ginny didn’t want to be done though. She wanted Pansy to stay in this cold pool with her. The fantasy of being here with a lover had taken root and she was imagining holding Pansy with her legs wrapped around Ginny’s hips. Imagining kissing with purple lips, the cold urging them to press together. Ginny noticed the way that wet white fabric clung to Pansy’s form as she stood up on the bank. Her nipples were bold and defiant against her drenched blouse and Ginny imagined teasing them between her lips. Pansy was pulling bits of plant matter out of her hair and waving a wand over herself to dry up. </p><p>“Well, I don’t think a Scourgify is going to cut it with these robes, now is it?” she asked, looking at herself. Ginny agreed and so shrugged with a small laugh. “While that was very <i>refreshing</i> you must remember that some of us try to look professional.”</p><p>Ginny laughed and glomped heavily out of the water and onto the shore, casting a half-assed drying charm that left her hair damp and curling. The two of them stumbled through the brush side by side and Ginny let herself push for an answer to her last question.</p><p>“So, you really don’t want to be friends then? Here I was thinking we were beginning to understand and like each other.”</p><p>“Very astute,” Pansy gave a sarcastic laugh as they neared the forest path. “I think we’re definitely beginning to like each other, but no, I don’t particularly want to be friends. Now, has Bravo decided whether he or his second string will be playing by the time I get back to that everlasting game and it’s ever-partying viewers?”</p><p>Ginny reluctantly accepted the conversation’s re-direction toward the game. Quidditch was reliable and easy and this endless match was becoming the comfortable stasis they lived in. Ginny was definitely banking on those seekers remaining incompetent, because she loved the way Pansy had said that the were “definitely beginning to like each other.” </p><p>Something in Ginny’s defenses broke down there by Pansy’s creek. She had never trusted the pureblood witch, so trust could not be broken. Instead, after muffling Pansy’s apologies, Ginny’s skepticism was broken. It was a huge relief to let herself just… be with Pansy. </p><p>Ginny fell asleep listening to the sounds of Pansy’s showering, and although she herself still smelled like mud, she felt immensely clean.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! If you wanna talk mental illness, I'm ya gal. Feel free to bug me for updates, I love the motivation. Also, nope. Ginny and Pansy aren't going to end up together and they're going to both be sad and alone forever. Neither of these brave bold women are ever going to have the ovaries to make a move. Sorry, there's just nothing I can do XD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. "we should probably go to bed"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey there :) welcome back!<br/>Warning/Spoiler: Smut. Oh and use of the word cunt (reclaimed and imo super sexy)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey...” I awake to gentle prodding on my arm and a soft female voice. “Hey, Pansy, wake up!”</p><p>“Mmmgrph?” I groan, squinting my eyes open. I can see it’s still nighttime, and like the vampire I am I wake up more readily than I would past dawn. Less than a foot away from my face is Ginny Weasley, and in the moonlight I can see every freckle. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing...” Ginny smiles mischievously at me and I sit up to drink the water on my bedside. Ginny remains sitting on my bed, practically on my lap.</p><p>“Then why, gingersnap, are you waking me up in the middle of the night?”</p><p>“Oh psh,” Ginny says, giggling. “I know your circadian rhythms are less consistent than our Defense Against the Dark Arts education was.”</p><p>“Touche,” I shrug. “So did you just come in here to cuddle or…?”</p><p>Even in the dim light Ginny’s blush is vibrant. God, this girl is just too easy. Except that she's also impossibly difficult. </p><p>“No, actually,” Ginny’s eyes sparkle. “I was thinking maybe you wanted to come spy on the quidditch players with me. I talked to Alicia for the first time in ages and she told me that some of Chile’s first string fliers are blowing off steam in the woods by their tents. I’ve got a tickle in my tummy that there’s a story there.”</p><p>“Well cupcake, if <i>Alicia </i>told you about a party, maybe you go and share that tickle in your tummy with <i>her</i>?”</p><p>“Don’t be stupid.” Ginny pinches my arm hard. Ouch! “Alicia is asleep, she’s going back on the pitch in like 4 hours. Besides, <i>you’re</i> my Prophet assigned partner. It’s gotta be you.”</p><p>I sigh deeply. While I don’t particularly want to go gallivanting into the dark woods to spy on a bunch of jocks, the fact that Ginny came into my bedroom because she wants me to go with her... well…</p><p>“<i>Please?</i> she begs, and I’m done for. “Don’t make me go alone.”</p><p>“Fine, fine,” I concede. “I guess somebody ought to figure out where those lousy excuses for seekers have misplaced their brains. You’ll probably need me.”</p><p>Ginny practically squeals with delight and jumps off my bed. I get out too, and smuggly see her checking me out. I’m not sure if she’s ever seen this particular little burgundy nightie and I love the way her eyes tickle my skin as they slide up and down my body. Ginny must have noticed me noticing her noticing me, but we both continue this little game of ours and pretend we’ve noticed nothing. I raise an eyebrow at her and she looks away hurriedly while I grab clothes.</p><p>“So, what, are we just going to stumble in the dark through the woods and hope they don’t hear us?” I ask, getting dressed. The height of summer has hit us, so I’m in black denim shorts and a cropped tank top. I hope the wind will be fast enough to help push off the oppressive summer heat and mosquitoes. I also tuck away a Quick Quotes Quill and some omnioculars.</p><p>“Of course not, that would be idiotic,” Ginny scoffs. She laces her converse and I zip up my boots, downing some of my orange potion. “We’ll fly.”</p><p>“Oh. Let me think. No.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, that’s right! You’re scared of heights!” Ginny is laughing at me and I am so close to hexing her, but then: “It’s okay, I’ll be the one in control, you can just sit on the broom in front of me. We only have one broom anyways.”</p><p>Oh shit… I would’ve refused again but then she says: “I’ll hold you. I wouldn’t let you fall.”</p><p>Aw fuck.</p><p>“Unless you’re too chicken. I could always fly while you try to sneak around on foot…”<br/>
“Self preservation is a good thing, darling.”</p><p>“Scaredy cat. I’ll keep you safe.”</p><p>Fine. That’s how she’s gonna play? Well then…</p><p>“Whatever, cupcake. Are you ready?” I say, nodding toward the tent door and the idiotic plan that is flying through trees at night beyond it.</p><p>“Born ready.” Ginny grins and leads the way, grabbing her intimidatingly fast broom. It is not without deep regret that I follow her outside. If I believed in a god, I’d be praying right now. When she mounts her broom and reaches for me to jump on in front of her it is only the appeal of holding her hand that allows my feet to move. God damn, when did I turn into such a sap? I think the whole Gryffindors are noble thing must be a myth, because Ginny is without a doubt evil.</p><p>“You ready?” She asks, wrapping her arms around me to grasp onto the broom. Crazy witch doesn’t wait for an answer before kicking off hard from the ground and soaring up into the night sky.</p><p>“Oh shit fuck Hecate’s tits Merlin sodding fuck bloody oh god Ginny fuck!” The stream of vulgarities leaves my mouth without my consent and I’m squeezing my eyes shut and gripping the broom so hard I’m sure my fingers are about to break.</p><p>But I can feel Ginny’s hot breath on my neck and her soft, merciless chuckle is so close to my ear that I can hear it past the whooshing of wind.</p><p>“Pansy,” she says gently, “Open your eyes, it’s beautiful.”</p><p>Reluctantly, I squint one eye open. Terror-induced vertigo aside, I must agree that the night is pretty and serene. The moon is half full and it’s light hits the tops of trees, creating what looks like a soft carpet of dark green below us. Though the night was hot on the ground, the wind is cold on my bare legs and arms, but Ginny is pressed against my back, arms wrapped around me, keeping me warm.</p><p>“Right,” I say through gritted teeth. “So where are these incompetent seekers supposed to be?”</p><p>“I think…” Ginny twirls the broom around to look in all directions and I feel like I might puke. “Yeah, over there.”</p><p>Then she leans forward, her chest soft against my shoulders, and we zoom above the leafy canopy. </p><p>About five minutes into our flight I’m beginning to calm down enough to keep both eyes open and I can almost see the appeal that flying has on people like Draco and Ginny. It’s a little bit like the more pleasant part of my Up moods in that I feel powerful and magical. It’s also sort of like some drugs I did in my early twenties; I feel really alive. Even if that is mostly because I’m fixating on the increased likelihood of my death.</p><p>Ginny stops abruptly and I slide forward on the broom, letting out an embarrassing yelp. I soften when she wraps an arm around my waist to hold me still.</p><p>“Shh,” she whispers in my ear. “I think I see smoke just there by where the Chilean Team tents are. They must be having a little bonfire.”</p><p>“Maybe they’re all just too busy ‘blowing off steam’ and they just don’t have enough steam left to catch a snitch,” I mutter.</p><p>Still holding me as easily as if I were a quaffle, she steers us to the top of a tall douglas fir and carelessly jumps off the broom to perch on a couple branches. Those branches look far too thin for my trust, but she is at ease. More pressing though, is that with her dismounted I’m alone on a hovering broom that I don’t know how to fly about 50 meters above ground.</p><p>Noticing my panic, Ginny grabs the broom to slowly guide it to a branch near her. She must be able to tell that there’s no way in hell that I’d willingly get off the magically flying broomstick onto a little branch and so she conjures a wooden platform that is undeniably securely attached to the tree. It’s like a tree fort or a hunting stand. Neither of which I’m particularly fond of. I’m skeptical and so apply my own additional strengthening charms until I trust that even if the tree branches snap, this little platform will stay afloat.</p><p>Ginny is silently laughing at me as I wiggle off the broom onto the make-shift tree fort. I’m gripping the wood like my life depends on it, which it does. The fact that I’m trying to maneuver up here by only the light of a half moon doesn’t make it any easier. </p><p>“Hey, if you fall I’ll just catch you with a levitation charm. Don’t worry,” she says kindly. Most of what I heard though was <i>‘if you fall’</i>. I swallow and try to ignore this. When she lays a hand on my knee and looks at me with her stupidly pretty eyes I find that my heart fluttering may have just as much to do with her as it does with the height. I’d really like to make her work for it, so I try to play hard to get. She’s the one that blew me off on Game Day 1, afterall. Unfortunately apathy is difficult to feign while trying not to hyperventilate from fear.</p><p>“Do you see them?” I ask her, squinting down at the ground myself. I see the campfire, but the thick branches make it difficult to make out the players.</p><p>“Yeah, sort of,” Ginny says. I pull out my omnioculars and try to see down through the pine needles.</p><p>“Shit!” I exclaim.</p><p>“What?” Ginny looks at me excitedly.</p><p>“Gabrielle is down there, sitting on Bravo’s lap nonetheless.”</p><p>“Ugh, we can’t turn that into a story… wait, really? God, I should’ve known. She told me she was into him, and, well, nobody could say no to <i>her</i>,” Ginny chuckles and I can’t help a tiny bubble of insecurity and jealousy. But I push it away efficiently, in part due to the ever distracting height that we are at and in part due to the impossibility of any lady love not being a tiny bit attracted to the part veela.</p><p>After I identify who else is down there I submit to the fact that the pine branches make it difficult to see what they are doing, I put away my omnioculars. Then Ginny pulls out a flesh colored string and puts it up to her ear, letting the other end drop all the way down to the base of the tree. </p><p>“Extendable ear,” she explains. “My brothers make them… there, I can hear them now.”</p><p>“Are they unveiling unbelievable secrets that would explain why they’ve been failing so desperately to catch the snitch?” I ask.</p><p>“Dunno, I don’t speak Spanish. Here, you take a turn.”</p><p>Right as she reaches out to hand me the extendable ear a big gust of wind makes the giant tree sway dangerously. I can hear the wood creaking and my heart leaps to my throat. I reach out to take the fleshy string, but the wind gusts again and my hands shake. The string falls out of Ginny’s hand and down over 20 meters before tangling in the branches.</p><p>As the tree continues to sway, I squeeze my eyes shut and grab onto it’s trunk, clinging on for dear life. I hear and feel Ginny leaping from her branch to join me on the platform and again, she places a hand on my knee.</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay,” she says, and although she’s being nice I can hear the suppressed laugh in her voice. “This tree has remained standing tall for years and years. It’s not going to give in to a light breeze.”</p><p>Light breeze my ass. This is a fucking tornado. Stupid Gryffindors and their complete lack of healthy self preservation.</p><p>“I’m going to die and it’s going to be all your fault,” I accuse her. In response she places her other hand on my back, slowly rubbing in circles. Impressively, it does next to nothing to ease my fear.</p><p>“I could try to distract you,” she offers. If my eyes could open I would roll them.</p><p>“What, with all the juicy stories we’re not hearing from those quidditch tossers?”</p><p>“No… I can think of something better.”</p><p>But before I can ask what could possibly distract me from my impending death by gravity, I feel her soft, warm lips meeting mine. </p><p>She’s right, this is a much better distraction. My entire consciousness concentrates to where our bodies touch. From her hand on my knee that is squeezing tighter now, to her hand on my back that has slipped lower and is pulling me to her. Mostly though, my entire existence lives in the place where our lips meet. If our first kiss was sloppy and insatiable, this one is in contrast slow and sweet.</p><p>I let my mouth open and her tongue is hesitant as she licks my lips. My hands loosen on the tree trunk in their eagerness to touch Ginny, to twist my sap covered hands into her windswept hair. When I do, she lets out the tiniest of moans and my heart breaks a little.</p><p>I completely forget about how high above ground we are.</p><p>Until a loud bang sounds from beneath us. I jump in surprise and Ginny has to grab on to me before I fall. Oh fucking Hecate, I’m like 50 meters above the ground! And there’s screaming coming from below us and I can just see sparks through the branches. The soothing scent of pine sap can’t mask the returning adrenaline.</p><p>Ginny switches immediately from somebody incredibly soft to the hard Ginny I knew during the war. She’s all sudden movements and sharp eyes. In a few seconds she’s mounted her broom and orders me to jump on behind her. There’s no arguing with her and I guess we have quidditch players to rescue from unknown danger. I’m still feeling somewhat buzzed from that kiss, so I allow myself to fall into the unfamiliar role of hero. Wow. I’m really rocking the school girl look right now, swooning over a quick snog. I refuse to be embarrassed.</p><p>So, with my uncharacteristic bravery, I jump onto the broom behind Ginny. (To be honest, this bravery may also stem from my fear of being left alone up in a Douglas Fir.) Ginny doesn’t take the dive easy on me, pulling out at the last minute. We dismount into a circle of Chilean international quidditch players and I nearly fall into their campfire. All of them look perfectly healthy except for the glazed looks in their eyes. Ginny raises her wand to shine a light in the trees, searching carefully before apparently deeming the situation safe to investigate. </p><p>“Ant,” Ginny addresses the familiar seeker, Antinanco Bravo while I continue to watch the forest for potential danger. He turns towards her, but his gaze doesn’t quite focus on her face. “Ant, are you okay?”</p><p>“Que?” The famous quidditch player’s voice was like falling silk, aimless and slow. “Si po, estoy bien… es una hermosa noche.”</p><p>“He claims that he’s fine,” I tell Ginny, wrinkling my nose as I see one of them drooling. “But they’re obviously not.”</p><p>“No,” she says, shaking her head. “They’ve been confunded. But… the magic is stronger than usual. Wait…”</p><p>I wait. I’m not usually so patient but even during the midst of a crisis, I’m focussed on her lips.</p><p>“This isn’t the first time…” Ginny pulls a Galleon out of her pocket and taps it with her wand. “Last week…I was doing interviews with the seekers who had been pulled out of the game. I thought they were all just drugged up on pain potions or concussed, but they were clearly confunded. How was I such an idiot?!”</p><p>“Shut up. You’re perfectly capable and intelligent, gingersnap,” I drone and point at her Galleon. “What’s with the sudden displays of gold?”</p><p>“Oh...” Ginny bites her lip like she’s hesitant to tell me a secret but then . “Just… a D.A. thing. Neville should have gotten it… I know I’m not the only one who still holds onto it. Luna might check in too… oops.”</p><p>“Well, well, well, isn’t that clever. Granger I’m guessing?” </p><p>Ginny nods and goes to walk the perimeter of the clearing, wand raised. She looks formidable, the campfire casting a shadow across her face and flickering light onto her freckles. I try to ask the quidditch players if they've seen anything. Anybody? I try to test their memories, and while they’re all neutralizing and holding conversations, they're still somewhat discoordinated and dazed. After a little bit I realise something obvious.</p><p>“Where did Gaby go?” I ask, turning away from the hopeless players. “I didn’t see her leave earlier…”</p><p>“Me either. I was a bit distracted.” We look at eachother with guilt but not an ounce of regret. “But I’m sure she just went home. She has to do an early interview tomorrow.”</p><p>I don’t say anything, but wonder at how trusting this silly girl is. I sort of hate that I find it endearing. I pull out my Quick Quotes Quill to jot down names and details. I even write down the vineyard that their Carmenere was from, and note their snack choice. I don’t remember any poison detection spells, but hey, I haven’t studied potions in nearly a decade. The observable symptoms could easily point to the Confusing Concoction potion.</p><p>“It might explain the long lasting effects,” I suggest to Ginny after bringing up my idea.</p><p>“Maybe… but it sort of sounded like a spell, didn’t it?”</p><p>“I did see sparks,” I say. “Best leave the sleuthing to the professionals I guess.” </p><p>Neville arrives with Harry and a few more Aurors about twenty tense minutes later. I let Ginny explain the situation to them and keep my ears and eyes open and mentally report notes to my Quick Quotes Quill. I don’t like the way some of the Aurors are looking at me like I’m a prime suspect. To be fair, I don’t completely blame them. Luck is on my side though… or at least Ginny and Harry are. This world is full of surprises, isn’t it? Ginny tells them her theory that these players have been repeatedly confunded.</p><p>“Probably since the beginning of the game!” Ginny groans. “Merlin, I should have known. They flew 10 times better in training than they have since the game started. Here I was, just thinking it was nerves, or exhaustion, or our own formidable English team keeping them from the snitch!”</p><p>“The formidable English team?” I laugh dryly. “Our seekers have been equally pathetic.”</p><p>“You’re right,” Harry agrees. “For instance, Toni Thombson is our first string. He broke the record for quickest snitch catch just this year. But I could fly better than how he’s been doing.”</p><p>“Yeah, but Harry, you’re a bloody fantastic flier,” says Longbottom. “You should’ve played for England. I’ve always said--”</p><p>“Pansy’s point,” like an angel, Ginny interrupts his obnoxious hero-worship, “is that maybe some of these Auror pals of yours could go check on the home team seekers! They’re probably a target right now too.”</p><p>“Oh! Right. Smith, Giles, Rosenburg, you three go check out England’s team tent. Harris, contact their Captain and Coach.”</p><p>“On it.” The Aurors dispersed until it was the four of us walking back to our tents on one larger, better lit path. I’m very grateful that Ginny has slung her broom over her shoulder and allowed us to walk back, even if it means I can’t wrap my arms around her.</p><p> Neville and Harry, while I appreciate that they’re on my side… just, go away. Gingersnap and I were in the middle of something very pleasant before this whole “Law &amp; Order” bit. Remember that German muggle I dated for nearly half a year? Yeah, she really liked American crime shows. I never really got into it.</p><p>“So you guys were spying, were you?” Neville asked us, something he’d graciously not done in front of an entire team. “Isn’t that a bit tabloid for you two?”</p><p>“No. We just happened to be around,” I say, flatly.</p><p>“Come on Nev” Ginny laughs. “Who doesn’t love a good stake out? And you’re welcome, by the way. It’s a good thing we <i>were </i> here.”</p><p>“I guess so,” Neville grins. “Otherwise we’d still be oblivious and letting them play as usual. Auror Clarke should be able to lift the spells by morning. The match is continuing seeker-less until then.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Neville grimaced. “And when everyone leaves at once, our investigation is going to go pear-shaped. It’ll be so difficult to find this guy.”</p><p>“Or witch,” Ginny comments with an eye roll. “But yeah, I can’t even think of anyone who would have a motive. Maybe one of the businesses in Sports Village?”</p><p>“What with the asassanation attempt and confused seekers,” Neville sighs, “you journalists are going to have a field day. And Aurors are going to be criticized harshly…”</p><p>“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Longbottom,” I tell him though I’m secretly concerned as well. Tomorrow is going to be insane. Everybody is going to be blaming everybody else, yelling and defensive. Actually, on second thought, bring it on. Who doesn’t love a good bit of chaos? “We’ll keep your approval ratings up.”</p><p>“It’ll feel strange,” Ginny says. “To have the game continue tonight with no seekers. Poor chasers, flying eternally without even the hope that the game might end. I wonder who will even bother to watch them tonight too.” </p><p>“Shouldn’t feel too different,” Harry comments. “We haven’t had an able-minded seeker in the game for nearly three months now.”</p><p>“Has it really been that long?” Neville sighs.</p><p>“It’s Mid July,” I state monotone. “We started May 10th. That’s two months.”</p><p>“Ron and George better back out on their bets that the game will go over the three month record,” Harry laughed. “Game will probably end tomorrow.”</p><p>Well, doesn’t that realization feel like cold water down my spine. I look towards Ginny, but the fairies aren’t shining quite bright enough for me to read her expression very well. This is why I’m very glad when Neville and Harry split off down a different path and it’s just the two of us.</p><p>I’m tempted to immediately rejoin lips with Ginny, but while I glance around to see if anybody is looking, she beats me to it. It’s short and afterwards she links her fingers together with mine so that we’re walking through the woods hand in hand. That cold water feeling evaporates and I feel warm and soft. I imagine that the light is dim, that even if anybody was wandering around at this hour they wouldn’t really see our faces. Besides, two girls holding hands is hardly incriminating. We could be sisters.</p><p>We get to the tent quickly, as both of us are speed walking. She opens the flap for me and I mask my absolutely adolescent lustiness with an eye roll. When she leans a hip against an armchair she looks sheepishly sexy.</p><p>“It’ll be a big day tomorrow,” she says. “I suppose we should go to bed.”</p><p>“Yes, we should.” I nod. We really should get some sleep. We should talk to each other and take things nice and slow, building trust and open communication. The game will likely end tomorrow, and we should test out dating back in London. Maybe have dinner a few more times, work up to intimacy. Or perhaps I should back out now before we both end up getting hurt. </p><p> But fuck ‘<i>shoulds</i>’. I smirk at Ginny and say, “Yours or mine?”</p><p>Ginny’s smile is positively conniving as she takes long steps towards me to grab my face. Greedily she lifts my jaw to kiss my lips. There’s no hiding my swooning now, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She catches me around the waste and slides her hands down to grab my ass.</p><p>“Yours,” she murmurs against my lips. “‘Door’s closer.”</p><p>She just barely registers my nod before she slams me against my bedroom door. </p><p>***</p><p>Ginny pushed Pansy against her door and crashed their mouths together. Her hands were all over Pansy, who seemed barely in control of her own body weight. While Ginny held her up, the less athletic witch reached behind herself to fumble with her bedroom doorknob. </p><p>“Eager are we?,” Pansy chuckled, opening the door and pulling Ginny backwards with her. Ginny used that momentum to throw Pansy onto her bed. Pansy kicked off her boots while Ginny fumbled with the long white laces of her converse; both with shallow breath and some laughter.</p><p>“Stop laughing at me!” Ginny laughed, twisting her ankle desperately out of her second shoe. </p><p>“Yeah? Come make me.” </p><p>Ginny groaned and threw her shoes swiftly to the floor before jumping onto Pansy’s bed. Ginny’s beat up t-shirt came off immediately. Pansy’s silky tank top came quickly after, revealing a sheer, lacy bra which perfectly contrasted Ginny’s worn out sports bra. Ginny took the time to enjoy the way her sun-kissed and freckled hands looked like streaks of color against Pansy’s milky skin. Neither of them stopped laughing completely, only when multitasking declared victory to kissing. They kissed like they’d been waiting lifetimes to do so, and pressed their bodies so close together that Ginny was sure they’d lose track of where one body ended and the other began.</p><p>“So,” Ginny made herself pull back for a second to address Pansy, trying to be serious but dizzy from probable oxygen deficiency. “I know we’ve had a lot of--”</p><p>Pansy apparently still had a wand on hand because she cast “silencio!” on Ginny before she could finish her sentence. She continued to try to talk to Pansy, but not a sound came out.</p><p>“No. Bad girl!” Pansy scolded her. “I expect to only hear you say sexy things. Like, to tell me exactly which way you want or don’t want me to ravish you. Or to string expletives together. Moaning my name is also an option. Nothing boring. Understood?”</p><p>Ginny rolled her eyes, but nodded. Pansy’s cleavage was begging to be licked, and so she dipped down to oblige. A tickle in her throat told her the charm had been lifted. She tested her vocal chords with a small hum. That was perfect, because Ginny Weasley really enjoyed making noise.</p><p>Ginny reached a hand around to unfasten Pansy’s bra, and took advantage of the newly exposed nipple by pulling it in between her lips. Pansy’s nails dug through her hair. They push and shove, kiss and lick, their way into the bed, Pansy’s down comforter fluffing around them. Ginny leaned over Pansy, ginger hair everywhere. She fumbled with the buttons of Pansy’s tight shorts and pulled them down off her roughly. </p><p>“If you take the rest of your clothes off right now, I’ll let you pull off my thong with your teeth,” Pansy suggested. </p><p>Ginny was 100% okay with those arrangements and got to work undressing. Ginny gave up on taking Pansy’s black thong off with only her teeth about halfway to the knees when she accidentally tickled Pansy, and received an involuntary kick in the shoulder. With the thong on the floor and Pansy completely exposed, Ginny’s awkwardness and laughter subsided. They were pushed aside by the burning want that lit her insides and raised her heart rate. Her face was at that spot where thighs meets hips and decided to surprise Pansy with a quick cunt kiss before jumping up to lay above Pansy and embrace her upper lips. That low kiss had Pansy lifting her hips up from the mattress and pressing against her newly recaptured lover.</p><p>The witches continued to get as close to each other as they physically could. Everything was wet skin on wet skin. Every breath was shared. Things were messy and eager, so much better than their first time. This time, all sloppiness was due to infatuation rather than intoxication.</p><p>Ginny ground her hips needily and loved how she knew Pansy was thirsty for the sight of her rubbing off on her. She spread her juices all over Pansy’s thigh and once Pansy was properly marked with her scent, Ginny brought one hand down to rub sloppy circles around Pansy’s swollen clit, and to the other hand to tease and pull at her nipples. </p><p>They had just wanted this so badly, for so long. The question of whether they should have done this a month ago, or whether they shouldn’t be doing this at all, was much too cerebral for the moment. The game would probably end in the morning, Ginny remembered as she considered sticking her finger deep into Pansy’s cunt. This non-reality that they had created was temporary and beautifully fragile in its transitory nature. </p><p>That, mixed with Pansy’s frantic “fuck me fuck me fuck me”’s led Ginny to push two fingers into Pansy, up to the knuckle. Pansy’s huge gasp sent magic and electricity through Ginny’s fingers and filled up her whole body. Pansy showed that rare and precious vulnerability that had been missing in their first encounter. It drove Ginny insane. This was so completely right, and Ginny couldn’t stand that they’d been wasting all of this time playing chicken. Because Merlin, being inside Pansy felt so necessary.</p><p>Drowning her gaze in Pany’s dilated pupils, Ginny pushed in and out, letting every sign of pleasure from Pansy dictate her movements. Pansy definitely took initiative and lifted her hips so that she could fuck Ginny’s fingers right back. It made Ginny’s mouth water. She was learning that with some warming up, Pansy liked to take a lot, and so she pushed in deep against her smooth cervix, working up to three fingers. </p><p>Pansy was pulling Ginny’s hair to just the right amount of pain, with her eyes screwed up and her eternally perfect makeup smeared, spelling lust across her face. Time was meaningless, and Pansy let her pleasure build and build inside her, challenging Ginny to pull it out. After several full body convulsions, Pansy pulled Ginny’s hand out. Ginny was suddenly nervous about if she had hurt the other woman by being too rough, but Pansy was just pulling up Ginny’s wet fingers to suck on; to taste herself. </p><p>Ginny, suddenly jealous and dipped down to taste Pansy for herself. Apparently having a different idea, Pansy had guided her own hand to Ginny’s very own soaking cunt. The two motions ended up with Pansy accidently hitting Ginny on the head. They both laughed and Ginny swore.</p><p>“Me first,” Pansy said before surprising Ginny by rolling them over so that she was on top.</p><p>“I thought you just went first?” Ginny asked, impressed by Pansy’s continued energy. She thought she had just elicited enough pleasure in Pansy to tranquilize a hypogryff. She supposed that Pansy hadn’t had her blue potion or any intoxicants, so sleep might not be easy coming. Unlike sleep, Ginny and Pansy would easily be coming all night. </p><p>For instance, Pansy’s “me first” meant that Ginny got to be treated next, moaning like a pillow princess in a musical fairy tail. </p><p>“But then you can eat me out while I sit on your face,” Pansy told her with a smirk.</p><p>That’s the thing about witches, Ginny appreciates somewhere around her 4th orgasm. When the tension is built up right, sex can go on indefinitely. </p><p>Finally when the two of them finally admitted defeat. They peed and washed up, as efficiently as two gooey puddles of hormones and oxytocin can. Pansy only took half of her nighttime potions for fear of not waking up. Ginny was too exhausted to remind Pansy that she’s never very good at waking up anyways. With one thought tucked aside about how those poor confused seekers were doing, she shamelessly cuddled against Pansy. She fell asleep immediately, soothed by the sound of Pansy’s soft, slow breaths.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Like how goofy I make their sex scenes? I just think some writers take smut much too seriously. Sex is silly. Oh! And look, there's like, plot too! Leaving me comments and kudos inspires me :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. "do something for me to draw"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we are! Sorry for the bit of a wait. This one is short and sweet for you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun shone red through Ginny’s eyelids as she woke up. Pansy, soft and sleeping, cuddled against her back. Her slow breaths warmed Ginny’s neck, gently blowing baby hairs and tickling Ginny into consciousness. Waking up in somebody’s arms must be the best feeling. Even with insufficient sleep, Ginny never struggled with mornings but she didn’t want to get out of bed just yet. Instead, a strong urge to kiss Pansy made her roll around and lightly press her lips to that cute little pug nose.</p>
<p>Pansy made a small noise, vulnerable and uncharacteristically sweet. Soft legs reached forward to tangle with Ginny’s and her little pug nose nuzzled under Ginny’s ear.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Pansy.” Pansy didn’t respond verbally, but when Ginny kissed her sleepy lips she happily obliged. After a moment however, she pulled away, grimacing.</p>
<p>“Wait, just,” Pansy turned her face, “I probably have awful morning breath.”</p>
<p>“I think I can handle it.” Ginny trailed the back of her hand along Pansy’s jawline. </p>
<p>“But there’s no Vivaldi, we still have time,” Pansy complained. Ginny furrowed her brows.</p>
<p>“No what?”</p>
<p>“Italian wizard who had a thing for violins. He wrote a lot of songs that all sound the same and the stupid alarm clock from stupid Blaise sings them to force me out of bed in the morning. Bastard.”</p>
<p>Ginny wasn’t sure if the ‘bastard’ referred to Vivaldi or to Blaise, but she let it go. A more important question needed asking. “Do you think you’d ever wake me up by serenading me with that magic harp of yours?”  </p>
<p>“How’d you know I play harp?” </p>
<p>“I know everything.”</p>
<p>“Ginny.” Pansy groaned, finally opening her eyes. Though it was morning, the grumpy expression she wore wasn’t completely convincing. She repeated, “How’d you know I play harp?”</p>
<p>“I saw you,” Ginny confessed. “Heard you, rather. By your parent’s tent. When did you start playing?”</p>
<p>“My parents gave me my first tiny harp at the age of three,” she said. “I practiced an hour every day until I went to Hogwarts. A young pureblood girl ought to be well rounded.”</p>
<p>“So you don’t like to play it?”</p>
<p>“No, I love it.” The way Pansy said the word ‘love’ left some unrecognizable feeling in Ginny’s chest.</p>
<p>“So you still played while you were at Hogwarts?” Ginny had been itching to ask these questions for weeks. The singing birds outside the window encouraged her morning pep. “Do you still practice? Why the harp, specifically? Why haven’t I seen you play while we’ve been camping here?”</p>
<p>“Damn, sugarplum. Too many questions. We don’t even have to wake up yet.” </p>
<p>Pansy wiggled even closer to Ginny, pushing her hips forward pulling the blanket up over her eyes. Ginny checked the clock on Pansy’s messy bedside table. If she stayed in bed much longer, she would miss her morning workout. Although, she could think of some cardio she could do right in this bed. Her hands wandered lower to squeeze Pansy’s backside and her hips began to grind forward against Pansy’s pelvis. Pansy trailed kisses slowly up her neck but just as they were about to claim Ginny’s mouth…</p>
<p>“Hello?” a familiar voice called from the living room. “Ginny?”</p>
<p>Ginny jumped out of bed, eliciting a frustrated groan from Pansy. Ginny threw on yesterday’s shorts and tshirt, trying (and failing) to tame her messy hair.</p>
<p>“Just a sec, Luna!” </p>
<p>“What’s Loony Lovegood doing here?” Pansy asked, annoyed. </p>
<p>“Don’t call her that,” Ginny said without conviction before stepping out to the living room.</p>
<p>“Oh dear.” Luna looked Ginny up and down, then glanced at the closed door to Pansy’s room. “I do hope I didn’t wake you. It’s just that I didn’t see my Galleon last night and then awoke this morning to notice that it bore yesterday’s date. Naturally I got here as soon as I could. I do hope you are well?”</p>
<p>“Sorry. Yes, I mean. I’m fine. I didn’t mean to worry you.”</p>
<p> “That’s wonderful! I am so happy to see that you look happy and healthy and somewhat disheveled. I just spoke with Neville who filled me in on everything. He said you were fine, but I needed to make sure. Just in case.”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Ginny said again.</p>
<p>“It’s alright, of course. Often times, I get worried for no reason at all. It was a relief when Neville told me there was an attack. It made me feel less crazy for expecting a disaster,” Luna said and paused for a moment. “You woke up in Pansy Parkinson’s room.”</p>
<p>“Oh, um, yeah, I was just-” Ginny stuttered to a halt, aware that Pansy could probably hear this conversation through the thin walls. It was time for an unnatural topic change. “Luna, will you watch the game today? A lot of people have gone home to work and only come back in their spare time, so there’s plenty of room in the stands. I’m betting that snitch is going to finally be caught today.”</p>
<p>“I thought only seekers could catch the snitch,” Luna raised her eyebrows. Ginny confirmed with a nod. “Well then, you’re likely mistaken. All of the seekers and their reserves are still in Auror and medical custody. Neville told me. Seems the <i>confundus</i> or Confusing Concoction diagnostics are being difficult. I told them that clearly it’s nargles, and Nev said they would look into it.”</p>
<p>Ginny’s eyebrows shot up to her ginger hairline. This was going to be all over soon! Those reckless choices last night were dependent on only having a few more days of cohabitation with Pansy. More time living together could mean an increasing necessity to communicate about wants, feelings, history… things that Ginny couldn’t discuss. Yes, flirtatious friendship was fun. An office rendezvous was exciting. But it was supposed to be their last night of the game; just one sexy encounter. Ginny had almost even hoped it might get this stupid attraction to Pansy out of her system. Clearly that wasn’t the case… </p>
<p>“Yes. Nargles,” Ginny finally responded.</p>
<p>“Indeed. Well, I’ll be returning home now,” Luna said airily looking up at nothing and tastefully ignoring Ginny’s awkward pause. “Rolf has made mulberry pasties for breakfast. I am rather fond of his sweet tooth. Have fun with Pansy.”</p>
<p>“Right,” said Ginny, defeated. “Bye, Luna.”</p>
<p>At that moment Ginny heard some classical music blaring tinily from Pansy’s room. Well, looks like Ginny wasn’t getting her morning work out after all. With a sigh she guessed that she ought to kiss Pansy one more time before they go. Maybe a quick nipple squeeze too. But when she entered Pansy’s room she saw a very disgruntled Pansy threatening a bouncing clock. As the music stopped, dark and moody eyes stared up at Ginny. </p>
<p>“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell everybody you know about this,” Pansy snapped. “You know, break that habit of getting your sex life published in trashy magazines.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, you’re really nothing to brag about,” Ginny said with a teasing smile. Pansy’s being a bitch. Surprise, surprise. Not letting Pansy’s sour attitude get to her, she leaned over to grab Pansy’s orange potion and tossed it to her. Pansy threw back the morning potion making a yuck-face. Ginny loved the way that Pansy’s nose scrunched up and her eyes squeezed shut. She loved the way that when Pansy opened her eyes back up they were soft, no longer dark and moody. “Ready to kiss me now before I go get dressed?” </p>
<p>“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Pansy teased back. Ginny replied with what she hoped were deadly “come hither” eyes. The hopefully sultry expression morphed into a goofy, cocky grin when Pansy crossed the room and reached her hand up to tangle in Ginny’s hair and pulled her into a hard kiss. When Pansy pulled back, Ginny stumbled, lost for breath.</p>
<p>“Now go get in the shower,”  Pansy said, ushering her out of the room.  “I’ll meet you there after I take a couple sips of coffee,”</p>
<p>“We don’t have a lot of time,” Ginny pointed out eliciting a sigh from her sleep mussed companion. </p>
<p>“We’ll be quick then. I wash your back, you wash mine?” Ginny nodded, walked to the bathroom, and turned the faucet so that the room filled with steam. Pansy joined her while she was rinsing shampoo out of her hair and as promised, scrubbed Ginny’s back clean. With her musician fingers, she trailed soap up and around all the curves of Ginny’s body and Ginny savoured returning the favor. After conditioning, the upcoming work day began to pile to do lists in her head, so she reluctantly left a naked Pansy to finish showering alone. These soapy morning memories would surely haunt her for the rest of the day.</p>
<p>As Ginny got dressed, she successfully avoided worries about potential repercussions for having sex with Pansy. Ginny had had sex with plenty of people. So short term, casual friends-with benefits were old hat to her. This was still clearly defined by the constraints of the World Cup. They would stop when it was over, and the game <i>did</i> have to end eventually. Nargles and Confusion Concoctions be damned.</p>
<p>Like any considerate friend with benefits would do, she made them both breakfast. Then, it was back to the Top Box and the game would go on, for who knows how long.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Although we always wash up really well I can still smell her on me all day. I can smell the breakfast she made me, but it must be more than that. I must be noticing her floral shampoo because I ran out of my own.  But my fingers carry her delicate, salty scent as well; an aroma that evokes memories of a deep and delicious secret. Hecate, I swear I can smell her breath in my hair. I smell like we have slept in each other's arms. </p>
<p>For the rest of the week we shag nearly every day and end up sharing a bed every night. Our only nights spent alone are when our schedules don’t match up, but even then I’m in the Top Box working late and thinking of her. Sometimes it’s distracting. No. It is often distracting. I get spontaneously flustered during interviews remembering the way she tasted, soft and wet against my mouth. We rush through editing our articles in the tent, aching for the playful time between work and Ginny’s enforced bed-time. I think I’m contributing to our sleep deprivation by consistently re-interpreting ‘bedtime’ as time to be in the bed, instead of time to fall asleep. She has dark bags under her caramel eyes and it’s definitely my fault. But I think the dark circles really suit her.</p>
<p>The Aurors aren’t figuring out what kind of magic has made the seekers so discoordinated and spacy. They also have no idea who tried to kill Huerta, who is now making appearances in England only once a week. It’s only when she shows up that my attention can be diverted from my libido, understanding the gravity of journalism.</p>
<p>Huerta is getting a lot of backlash from her constituents, some of whom are angry about her progressive legislation and others who think she needs to be heavier handed with the conservative Wizarding Senate. So unfortunately there’s no shortage of potential suspects and I can’t write libel, hearsay, or conspiracy theories. Ginny is looking into who might gain from Chile’s quidditch defeat or has personal vendettas against the players. So naturally we have taken to researching Chilean policies, history, and athlete’s personal lives in the living room while playing footsie. I think she likes when I rant about colonialism. Or she hates it, because whenever I start, she knocks me back with kisses, rendering me unable to talk. Working for <i>the Prophet</i> has become akin to foreplay.</p>
<p>Shacklebolt is being attacked constantly in foreign press and I’m fighting to keep up his approval ratings. I should be completely invested in work. Hecate, I’m working on the most exciting news stories of the year. I’ve been chosen by Patil for being highly qualified and skillful. It should be demanding all of my attention! Salazar Slytherin would be ashamed. It’s just… everything could be over so soon and I don’t want to waste my limited access to her freckled skin and athletic build. It’s obnoxious.</p>
<p>I have considered that perhaps this risky bout of hypersexuality stems from a dangerous ‘Up’ episode. The all consuming nature is somewhat similar to the one where I left Amsterdam with crabs but few clear memories. However, my potions have kept my madness at bay in every other way and being with Ginny doesn’t feel like self sabotage. It can be confusing to discern where my madness ends and my personality begins, where the line between giddy and manic becomes dangerously thin. But there isn’t that warning of electricity that usually courses under mania. This thing with Ginny feels really nice, actually, and occasionally downright calming. But yeah… still. She’s driving me mad.</p>
<p>In order to continue keeping that madness at bay, I focus on all the reasons why we can only be temporary friends with benefits. It’s repetitive and even I’m sick of going over it, but with this glowing feeling in my chest… the risk is too high to ignore.</p>
<p>I repeat these reasons in my head like a daily mantra: I’m marrying Draco in two months, I’m not an out and proud lady-lover, she is my coworker so it would be unprofessional, she couldn’t ever really trust me even if she forgives me. <i>She’s too good for me.</i> Besides, she’s probably more into friends with benefits right now, and “define the relationship” conversations are always awkward and I’m Pansy Parkinson and I don’t need anyone. What that small, soft, stupid part of me might want <i>doesn’t matter</i>. It would be totally fine with me for this to end any moment at the catch of a snitch. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Both witches were lying partially clothed in Ginny’s bed, not doing much of anything. Ginny ran her fingers through Pansy short hair, with closed eyes and a soft smile. Maybe they would fall asleep soon. </p>
<p>“You put that watercolor back together.” Pansy’s voice was soft and observant.</p>
<p>“Uh-huh.”</p>
<p>“You hung it above your bed.”</p>
<p>“Yep.”</p>
<p>“It looks nice there.”</p>
<p>“I think so too.”</p>
<p>Pansy didn’t say anything else and her silence lulled Ginny to sleep.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <i>Ginny, </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Do not bother working tonight, I can stay the extra 5 hours. Not because this game is at all exciting or because I am a good selfless person. I think after two and a half months of playing, all of these athletes would sell their souls to get out of the game. Nobody has been hit with a bludger in three days and our chasers are scoring like the Chudley Cannons. And of course the game literally cannot end tonight as all the seekers are still being examined. It is a shame we cannot put you in the air, I’m sure it would make a better show.</i>
</p>
<p><i>No, mon amour, you need not be subject to all that. Ant will be watching the game with me, as I convinced the healers that it might help him be less of a confused potato. I will enjoy sitting with his adorably confused self. Hardly any fans are still here so Lugar Divertido is wilting and the Top Box is a martini filled wasteland. Nobody politically important is here either, for the record. A better use of my time would be faire une partie de jambes en l’air with Ant in these stands out of sight.</i> </p>
<p>
  <i>You are a lucky witch tonight. Tell Pansy ‘you’re welcome’ from me as well. You naughty English girls.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>xoxo<br/>
Gabrielle Delacour</i>
</p>
<p>Ginny did not pass on Gaby’s ‘you’re welcome’ to Pansy because she knew the publically closeted woman would not take it well. It wasn’t Ginny’s fault that Gaby was perceptive. Pansy sat at the table tonight, her work piled high around her, a quill poised in her hand. When Ginny told her that she would be staying in the tent for the night she rested her quill on the table and leaned back away from the piles of parchment. The dim light made her dark eyes even darker with dilated pupils as she looked Ginny up and down, lingering on the places that sent heat pulsing through her body.. </p>
<p>“You know,” Pansy said, “I think I’m allowed to be off the clock for the rest of the night.”</p>
<p>“That’s wonderful,” Ginny said, stepping forward to stroke Pansy’s arm. She tried to nonverbally communicate the sentiment: ‘how do you want me?’ </p>
<p>“Yes, it is.” Pansy nodded. “I’ve been really craving drawing. Too much time spent being the best shag of your life. It’s stunting my creativity.”</p>
<p>“Oh, art. Great.” Ginny gave up her attempts at sultry and attempted to hide disappointment. </p>
<p>“I agree.” Panny smirked and pointed at the couch. “Take off all your clothes and lie down.”</p>
<p>“What?” Ginny scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion, though her stomach fluttered. “I thought you wanted to draw?”</p>
<p>“Do as I say,” Pansy commanded, standing to summon her charcoals and parchment. </p>
<p>Ginny laughed but stripped, unabashedly naked in their living room. Her breath caught and she almost tripped when Pansy magically changed into white lingerie. Lately, Pansy liked to strip into sheer and lacy garments spontaneously and though Ginny didn’t quite understand why, she had no reason to complain. Instead she stared, preparing to kiss every inch of exposed skin. And every bit of unexposed skin.</p>
<p>“Go lie down,” Pansy ordered, interrupting her reverie. The demanding witch settled herself with her art supplies at her easel and Ginny took a slow and shaking breath. Pansy had a floating bottle pour her a glass of wine and she took a sip, waiting for the redhead to follow orders. </p>
<p>Comprehension dawned on Ginny and she understood Pansy’s plan. As much as there were other things Ginny was dying to do, she also wanted to please Pansy. She would only have until the seekers caught the snitch to please Pansy in such an artistically naked way. When she laid down she appreciated how much this couch had already seen and the soft, well-worn leather.</p>
<p>Pansy’s gaze on her bare skin sent little shivers through her bones, but the sound of charcoal scratching on paper was soothing. The summer air warmed her into relaxation and candles floated around the room making the magical tent ever more enchanting. Glancing down at her own naked body Ginny could appreciate how Pansy might enjoy drawing the flickering shadows caused by little flames.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to lie still like that,” Pansy informed her. “Not unless you want the illustrated Ginny to just lie there looking vapid.”</p>
<p>“Excuse you!” Ginny sat up abruptly and glared. “I’m not at all vapid and you know it.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.” Panny nodded gracefully. “Which is why you ought to do something for me to draw.”</p>
<p>“What should I do?” Ginny asked.</p>
<p>“Touch yourself.”</p>
<p>“I… really?”</p>
<p>“Yes, really.”</p>
<p>“...”</p>
<p>“I promise to never show the drawing to anyone and when we stop whatever this is, I can burn it.”</p>
<p>Halfway through Pansy’s promise Ginny’s heart sunk a little bit. Pansy had said “when we stop” not “if we stop.” No, Ginny’s heart did <i>not</i> sink. It was definitely <i>good</i> that they were on the same page about this limited-term affair.</p>
<p>So she did, trying to find the sexiest position to spread her legs, and wondered if she looked ridiculous. She’d never done something like this before. But when she looked at her own skin she enjoyed the warm light on her freckles. The fine light hairs on her arms and legs flecked gold and her long red mane was soft and sensual on her neck. The burn of Pansy’s gaze spurred her into action despite her nerves.</p>
<p>She ran her palms up her waist and around her thighs and up to cup and squeeze her breasts. Her hips rubbed back against the couch and she arched her back. The strong sensation of being watched forced her eyes open and up to stare into Pansy’s focused stare. She had stopped drawing and her charcoal hovered about the parchment while she held Ginny’s stare. Pansy’s gaze touched her more intensely than her own hands could.</p>
<p>Slowly, Ginny lifted her fingers up to her mouth and looped her tongue around her first two fingers. Ginny could almost see Pansy salivating. Keeping her eyes up, she reached those moistened fingers down to gently circle her clit and slide up and down.</p>
<p>“<i>Accio speculo,</i>” whispered Pansy, her voice sounding dry. A large glass marble flew out of her room and she directed it with her wand towards Ginny. When it landed to caress her inner thigh it began to vibrate and Ginny knew instinctively what to do. The two witches kept their eyes locked and every breath filled the room with awe as vibrations spread around Ginny’s core. </p>
<p>Pansy took a large gulp of wine and began to draw again. Ginny hoped that Pansy would capture how her legs shook when the marble made independent moves on how to best please her. Pansy’s toy just needed a little manual help, so she reached far down to reach her fingers into herself, knowing which deep places needed release. Her mouth opened with heavy breaths and she barely swallowed grateful moans. The vibrations and practiced self penetration devoured her the same way Pansy was devouring the sight of her. Though Pansy was across the room, Ginny felt her gaze touching her as strongly as any hands could. It was more than enough.</p>
<p>Pansy kept sketching while Ginny rested, having pleasured herself to satisfaction. After some time, Pansy put down her chalks and Ginny stood up to look at the moving picture that depicted her gloriously artistic wank.</p>
<p>“You’re not bad looking, gingersnap,” Pansy admitted, admiring her work. </p>
<p>Ginny winked and leaned down to kiss Pansy’s blackened fingers, allowing her breasts to lightly brush against Pansy’s face. Pansy had one second to open her lips and find a nipple before Ginny knelt down and out of reach again. She positioned herself between Pansy’s legs and ran her hand up to move aside Pansy’s lingerie. Charcoal from Pansy’s hands soon dusted Ginny’s red hair as she leaned back to look at the figure drawing. Like this, they tumbled together into what had to be casual ecstasy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The alternative title for this chapter was from Luna: "happy and healthy and somewhat disheveled." And that is what I wish for my lovely readers!  I'd love a comment or a kudo or a glass of Carmenere. I'll bring out the next chapter soon :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. "I trust you to know what drink I'd like."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the long wait on this one! Season 7 of the 100 came onto Netflix, Clextober happened, decided to rewatch Orphan Black, applying to grad school, and oh, yeah, I got a fancy new job. All of these are very good things but it made my editing and posting a wee bit delayed. But enough about me, let's see how our girls are faring what with that World Cup. Here we go! </p><p>Spoiler/warning: we've got some prejudice talk going on in this one and some light mention of bdsm.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>July 15th</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dear Ms Hermione Granger,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I hope this letter finds you well. I am sure you remember me from school and are surprised to hear from me. I beg that you do not dispose of this letter quite yet. I’m writing to request an interview with you to further develop my report on the popular speculation that English and Chilean Goblins are conspiring to overthrow the Chilean Ministry of Magic. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>In my next leading article I would like to make a case that these conjectures are based on species bias. I would like to reference some of your recent rulings on the Magical Creatures affirmative action cases. Furthermore, your well known name is likely to sway people’s opinions. I would like you to know that I hold you and your work in the highest esteem.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Best Regards,<br/>
Pansy Parkinson<br/>
floo= Prophet Tent 1</i>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <i>July 17th</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dear Pansy Parkinson,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I am indeed surprised to hear from you. I have read a lot of your work in the Prophet and am willing to have an interview with you.  It’s very important that people get the right information and I’ve noticed that your articles are all fact based. I enjoyed dinner with you and the Weasleys the other week and I appreciate you reaching out. You are correct that people might recognize my name.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I might add, however, that as a witch my voice is not the best suited to advocate for non-human magical creature’s rights. I would be happy to connect you with some Goblins who I’m sure have strong opinions on these recent speculations.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I’m available on Thursday or Friday late afternoon this week.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Best,<br/>
Hermione J. G. </i>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <i>											July 20th</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dear Hermione,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I also enjoyed seeing you the other week. I would appreciate introductions to the Goblins you speak of. I already have plans to meet with Gondlin Gwerts, the Goblin representative in the Ministry Liaison office and founder of the British Goblin Coalition.  Let’s you and I meet on Thursday at 4:00. Thank you.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Best,<br/>
Pansy P.<br/>
</i>
</p><p>I struggle to dress in a way that is simultaneously non-threatening and professional and part of my existing wardrobe. It’s not that I want Hermione to like me, but I need for her to respect me and speak freely with me about observed prejudice in the Ministry, species bias, her involvement in recent Goblin policy reform. She may be uncomfortable if I’m dressed like the bourgeoisie, but I don’t want to insult her by dressing down… Maybe it’s wrong of me to change how I dress when meeting with a muggleborn? I bet somebody’s written about this, but I don’t have the time or resources for research.</p><p>Merlin this <i>Being Socially Conscientious</i> thing is impossible. I’m glad Ginny isn’t here to watch me flip through outfits in this humiliating display of insecurity. My carefully structured outfit ends up boring, and undoubtedly too posh for Hermione’s taste. I wish I could go back to giving zero fucks. Last minute, I slip my feet into the rainbow pumps left over from Ginny’s coming out party. That’s at least one way I can make an easily deniable statement. </p><p>Hermione agreed to meet me at a tea-shop in Lugar Divertido and she is already there when I arrive. The way she holds herself, already seated with a cup of tea, emanates authority and demands respect. She looks well.</p><p>When she sees me she doesn’t smile, but nods and waves me over. She stands to shake my hand.</p><p>“Hello Pansy, how are you?”</p><p>“I’m doing well, thank you, and yourself?”</p><p>“I’m fine, thank you.”</p><p>We sit down and look at each other in silence. We both inhale as if to speak, but then hold our breaths and wait for the other to break the silence first. Then, at once, we both start talking.</p><p>“Thank you so much for agreeing to--”</p><p>“So, what would you like to--”</p><p>We both stop talking abruptly to allow the other to continue. I take a moment to accept an espresso from the barista. </p><p>“Are you hungry at all?” I ask her, looking at a menu.</p><p>“No, I just ate in the Top Box with Kingsley and Harry. The catering company is owned by your family, right? It was delicious.”</p><p>“I’m glad to hear that you enjoyed the food. I’ll pass along the message.” Yes, of course I will pass along praise from a well known muggle-born and activist to my bigoted parents. <i>As if</i>. Another beat of silence before Hermione spoke.</p><p>“So, where would you like to start?” Hermione’s face is impassive, and we’re both so on edge we’re in danger of falling off our chairs. I pull out my Quick Quotes Quill and notebook and look at the questions I have prepared. </p><p>“Right. Well, I was wondering, in your letter you mentioned…” And I delve into what she had expressed interest in talking about. She’s a wonderful person to interview because she becomes so candid in her passion. Her professionalism is impressive, as is her ability to leave our history aside in favor of our currently shared goals.</p><p>“I’m sure you are aware,” I say, “that Minister Shacklebolt has been surprisingly quiet about his views on the international relations of Goblins and how it will affect Gringotts and our national economy. Why do you think that is?”</p><p>Hermione’s responses are long and insightful and I’m learning something new every other second. My Quill can barely keep up with the surprises she throws at me. When I ask what her opinion is on how secretive the Aurors have been and she’s shockingly critical of them despite Longbottom being one of her dear friends.</p><p>I think I really like this lady.</p><p>“I think my perspective as a muggleborn has really helped me understand prejudice and empathize both with Goblins and Indiginous Activists who have been scapegoats in the media these past few months,” Hermione tells me at one point. “I understand what it’s like for people to hate you for no reason.”</p><p>We both fall silent for a moment and I put down my quill.</p><p>“Hey, Hermione,” I say, about to do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Something I feel like I’ve just learned this summer. It’s like I’ve joined Wizarding Alcoholics Anonymous and am in the middle of reparations. But here goes. Maybe next year I can go back to avoiding accountability.</p><p> “I’m really sorry.”</p><p>Hermione sighs and tilts her head at me.</p><p>“I was a--”</p><p>“Don’t bother,” Hermione shakes her head. “We both know what you were. Clearly we’ve moved past that.”</p><p>“Exactly!” I really want her to get the apology she deserves. (So that I can forget about it and never think about it again, obviously.) “ I’ve really grown up and I know what I did wasn’t okay.” </p><p>“You’ve been respectful recently and I know Ginny is fond of you.” Hermione is looking me directly in the eyes and I feel transparent. “Your writing generally leans progressive now, what changed?” </p><p>“Well, it’s like you said,” my palms are sweaty and my mouth is dry, but my goal-oriented self reminds me that she deserves to believe that people can change. Despite what I thought were selfish intentions, it’s occurring to me that she deserves to forgive more than I deserve to be forgiven. Time to jump off the deep end. </p><p>I swallow and say, “As a lesbian, I can empathize with what it’s like to deal with prejudice. I can’t say that I completely understand what you’ve experienced and I’ll never get what it’s like to be a Goblin or an Elf… but I can try.”</p><p>Hermione is silent and wide-eyed and my nerves are buzzing so I continue with a rushed voice, “Look I’ll never be perfect-”</p><p>“Perfection isn’t a good goal.” She grants me a smile. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”</p><p>I give her a small smile in return. What is it with these Gryffindor women making me stupidly brave and terrifyingly vulnerable?</p><p>“Right, well.” I look down at my notes. “I’m not out in Wizarding Britain, for obvious reasons. I’d appreciate it if we kept this conversation between you and me.”</p><p>She nods and I know she’s the kind of person who can keep a secret.<br/>
“I lived a stint in Germany and found myself hanging out with this muggle girl.” My posture relaxes and I talk to her as if with a friend. “Anyways, she showed me that being a lesbian muggle in Berlin isn’t a big deal at all. So, muggles are superior to wizards in that respect.”</p><p>Our conversation veers from the professional purpose of our meeting while she tells me about her one crazy escapade into Soho. Apparently Harry dragged her there before she even knew he fancied blokes. Time passes easily as we consume caffeine and exchange stories about LGBTQ muggles and how absurd British wizards can be about the whole thing. There, I’ve apologized. Now that pesky guilt feeling can shove off. Maybe. Someday. </p><p>Eventually we remember that we haven’t yet finished our interview and I pick back up my quill. </p><p>“So, if the Goblins are scapegoats, do you have any other suspicions about who attempted to assassinate Marta Huerta?”</p><p>“Well, I’m no expert,” Hermione says, “but the seekers sound like they’ve been cursed. It’s mild but long lasting, indicating that they may still be exposed to whatever or whoever is cursing them. If one of those Aurors did a pinch of research they’d realize that it’s highly unlikely that Goblins magic doesn’t work like that. They have no motives besides!”</p><p>Before long I have much more content than I could possibly use. We stand up to say goodbye and I pay for our tea and offer my hand out. She shakes it and gives me a full smile.</p><p>“Let me know if you’d like another interview some time,” she says. “Or if you’d just like to get lunch some time. This was nice.”</p><p>“Thank you.” I feel an unfamiliar warmth, like basking in the light of a sun you’ve never seen.</p><p>“And Pansy? Just keep doing this anti-prejudice work. Like my parents always said, it’s like brushing your teeth. You have to do it everyday.”</p><p>I masterfully resist an eye roll and we walk out of the teashop together. </p><p>***</p><p>My mother invites me to their tent where she’s arranged for house elves to give us pedicures. As they scrub our feet she describes the table settings and menu choices for that bloody fall wedding. Anything I want to say gets stuck in my throat, so I mostly reply with nods. Fortunately she doesn’t generally want to know what I think anyways.<br/>
I carefully choose bland conversation topics and we don’t talk about anything of substance. I know she is more likely to support the assination attempts on Marta Huerta than to speculate about who is behind them. She likely knows I wouldn’t be glad to hear about her disapproval of Goblins being allowed in the Top Box. So we tiptoe around matters of consequence and I try to ignore the shame I feel for being complicit in our elitist pureblood supremacy. </p><p> I allow my toenails to be painted a ‘pretty pale pink’ that reminds me of Arnold IV. My recent tea date with Hermione is fresh in my mind. While we discuss the pros and cons of a seafood option I think of all the ways I should be calling her out.</p><p>“The cakes in Top Box are sublime,” I say instead. “The caterers are doing a wonderful job.”</p><p>But I’m not that brave. It wouldn’t make a difference anyways. This woman is a lost cause. I’m not afraid of conflict in general. I thrive in it, even. But I am afraid of Goneril Parkinson. </p><p>And she’s my mother. I don’t want to make her unhappy when she has set aside the afternoon to spend time together. I like the way she tells me that my haircut compliments my features and she says I look just like her mother. I say that she looks like Grandmother too and she smiles and says that we all look alike. She’s not wrong. When we talk about the wedding I think she is genuinely excited for me. She likes Draco and she might just want me to be happy. </p><p>“Yes mother,” I say as elf hands buff the side of my big toe, “golden leaves would make lovely centerpieces.”</p><p>At least we’re not pretending to care about Quidditch.</p><p>***</p><p>Many fans had become weekenders and it was a Tuesday, so the high-class cocktail bar wasn’t crowded. Ginny and Pansy sat perched on white leather bar stools after Draco and Harry wandered off into the night. The four of them had been spending the evening together and the boys excused themselves early, all covert glances, whispers, and blushing cheeks. Ginny had an educated guess as to what they were getting up to. It would be a miracle for people to not notice their affair once Draco and Pansy were married. Those two were the most obvious thing in the world. </p><p>Though Ginny was feeling a similar desire to get back to the tent for some canoodling, Pansy invited her to stay for one more drink. She acquiesced when she realized this was the first time they’d ever been like this: alone together in public. With the boys there, she had tried to ignore the feeling that it was a double date, but now that it was just the two of them… well. It felt oddly like a first date. The angles of Pansy’s cheekbones reflected the cool blue lighting and the bar napkin in Ginny’s fiddling fingers was beginning to resemble black confetti. When Pansy had offered her a taste of her vodka martini (dry, straight up, with an olive) Ginny’s nose scrunched up. </p><p>“She’ll take a Pisco Landi,” Pansy told the bartender. </p><p>“Hey!” Ginny attempted to sound indignant that Pansy ordered for her, but a smile gave her away. The bartender and Pansy ignored her. “Landi as in Adriana Landi the keeper?”</p><p>“Yes, it’s her drink off-season. It’s just a pisco sour in a martini glass with a light tingling charm,” Pansy said. In response to Ginny’s blank state she smiled. “Just trust me, you’ll like it,</p><p>“Just trust you?” Ginny laughed. “Yeah, sure.”</p><p>“You don’t trust me?” Pansy narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice to tease. “We’ve been shagging nonstop for nearly a month. Surely you trust me a little bit.”</p><p>“I trust that you won’t poison me.” Ginny shrugged. True, Ginny started to trust her that day at the creek when she had pushed Pansy in the water. But the journey to these things was never linear. Besides, there was something wrong about admitting it out loud while sitting on a bar stool. “I trust that you won’t give me vaginal spattergroit or…  I don’t know, torture me and try to kill my friends.”</p><p>“Oh I see. You <i>do</i> trust me.” Pansy nodded with a superior look on her face and sipped her martini. “You’re just scared to admit it.”</p><p>This no longer felt like a first date. This felt like getting drinks with the girl she’s been living with and shagging all summer. Ginny was glad for the bartender setting her Landi-Something in front of her. Ginny murmured thanks and took a tentative sip. The tingling was rather pleasant and lemony.</p><p>“I trust that you know which drink I’d like,” Ginny said. </p><p>“If it helps at all,” said Pansy, looking down as she stirred her martini with the olive stick. “I trust you.”</p><p>“I’ve never given you a reason not to!” Ginny splashed a bit of her drink down onto her chest. “Bugger! I don’t know why these glasses need to be so stupidly shaped!”</p><p>Pansy handed her fresh napkins and didn’t comment on her complaint about martini glasses. </p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with casual sex, gingersnap. But, at the risk of sounding like a Hufflepuff, it’s simply impractical to repeatedly hook up with somebody you don’t trust. Dangerous even. So I’m glad you trust me.”</p><p>“Sometimes…” Ginny felt the pisco nearly immediately. Or that could have been her previous glass of white. Either way, she felt like being honest and open. Probably all this talk about<i> trust</i>. “Well. We’re friends, right? So… yeah. I still remember some things. I’m sure you do too. Do you really want to bring all this up right now? Here?”</p><p>“Too late, we’ve already started.”</p><p>“Fine,” Ginny said, before falling silent. She didn’t know how to continue and was grateful when Pansy spoke up.</p><p>“Look, I don’t want you to have a nightmare and hate me all over again.” Pansy’s tone was blasé, but Ginny knew better. “Let’s be perfectly clear and put it all out there. That way, if issues come up, we’ve already worked through them. You said you still remember things. What do you remember?”</p><p>“Didn’t we already deal with this?” Ginny asked, exasperated.</p><p>“Not really a one and done conversation, cupcake.”</p><p>“Well, alright then. There was, you know, that time you used the Cruciatus against me while I was unarmed and tied to a chair,” Ginny pushed the unwilling words out of her mouth. She glanced at the few people around them and was grateful for the just loud enough music. “And you gave me a huge scar across my back and even before that year you made prejudiced comments to my friends. I know you’ve changed, I know a lot about you--”</p><p>“But it’s still in your gut. Lingering in that special part of your nervous system that is designated to trauma. I understand.” Pansy looked into her eyes and bit her lip in that way that melted Ginny’s heart. Then she leaned forward to brush aside Ginny’s hair and whisper into her ear. “I think you should tie me up.”</p><p>“What?!” Ginny yelped, but Pansy slyly brushed their feet and ankles together. </p><p>“I think you should dominate me. Torture me a bit.” Pansy continued to whisper in her ear. Ginny’s heart was pounding and she had no idea where to place her eyes. “We could go back to that deep dark place that’s stuck inside of us, reverse rolls and turn the tables. We could own that dark place, make it our own. Harness this crazy heat between us so that when you think of ropes, you think of pleasure, not pain. I want to be so vulnerable to you, that you have no choice but to trust me completely.”</p><p>“But,” Ginny was getting hot around the neck, confused. How were they talking about reliving old trauma before ever even trying to define their relationship? This was <i>so</i> not a first date. “But isn’t that a bit much considering that we’ll probably stop all this once the snitch is caught and we’re not stuck in a tent together?”</p><p>Emotion flashed across Pansy’s face as she leaned back. The look was short lasting and she masked her face quickly with trademark nonchalance. Ginny didn’t know if Pansy’s brief expression made her feel guilty or hopeful. Why on earth did Pansy care so much about how Ginny felt about her? </p><p>“Yes, well, it’ll be good for our growth as individuals, I’m sure,” Pansy smirked and Ginny stopped breathing. “Besides, the thought of you dominating me is undeniably enticing. Could be fun.”</p><p>Ginny gulped her pisco. She couldn’t have been able to explain <i>why</i> she wanted to try this, but she really did.</p><p>“Alright, but I don’t want you completely submissive. Wouldn’t feel authentic...so… ” Ginny said nervously. “Now?”</p><p>“Yes, slam back your drink and we can go back to the sex dungeon,” Pansy said, deadpan before letting out to a little laugh. “No, darling, not tonight. We’ll wait until we get inspired, right? And I have an idea too… something that will help us move quickly through all the bullshit.”</p><p>“Merlin, should I be concerned?”</p><p>“No, just trust me.”</p><p>“I thought that was the whole problem?”</p><p>“Like I said, we’ll wait until we get inspired.”</p><p>Ginny felt perfectly inspired already, but maybe not quite ready. She nodded, keeping her eyes on her drink’s frothy surface, her ears burning. The bar music filled their beat of silence.</p><p>“So you’ve done this before, then?” Ginny asked, daring to look up. Pansy didn’t have to nod: her cocky smirk was enough of an answer. It comforted Ginny that Pansy was experienced. At least one of them was.</p><p>After Ginny cast an unnecessary Muffliato they talked about what they liked, and a safe word, and how they might want to work up a fight beforehand to really play things out. Having this kind of conversation in a half empty bar felt incredibly naughty on its own and Ginny found herself becoming more and more excited about this new idea.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know, lots and lots of Pansy development. I feel like it's so necessary for her to have a good relationship and make amends with Hermione, but I know it took away from our Ginsy time. Honestly, this fic just keeps getting more and more vulnerable for me. And woah, only a few more chapters, get ready.</p><p>Thanks for reading! Inspire and validate me by dropping me a comment if you'd like :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. "I think I'm still really high"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello readers, welcome back!</p>
<p>So this chapter. Oh god this chapter... it's a big one. I'm a little nervous but I'm also pleased. </p>
<p>Warning: Like 80% of this is smut, but it's 100% romance! As was foreshadowed in the last chapter there's a little bondage and pain-play. If you don't like that kind of stuff just stop when Ginny casts Expelliarmus and skip to the last couple sections :) Oh! And there's drugs. If you didn't get that from the chapter title.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every night for the rest of July I brush my teeth with Hermione Granger’s words in mind: <i>’Something you have to do everyday.’</i> As I diligently clean the plaque off of my molars, it occurs to me that a fairer world for marginalized groups is also a world that I personally would rather live in. I suppose those bleeding heart Hufflepuffs were more similar to my old house than anyone was ever willing to admit. Self interested, the whole lot.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <i>August 5th<br/>
Pansy,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I had to leave bed early this morning and while I kissed you goodbye I’m pretty sure you were blissfully asleep. You kept me up so late last night and I’m not complaining, but really I need to get sleep one of these nights. I got you a present which as I’m sure you’ve already seen, is taped to this letter. Wear it and think of me.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>And don’t forget to wash the strapon. The oil free soap is in the medicine cabinet. </i>
</p>
<p><i>-Gin<br/>
</i><br/>
Taped to this little note was a thin, black leather collar with a silver circle dangling from the neck that read “Pillow Fort Architect.” Without hesitation I clasp it around my neck and under the collar of my high buttoned blouse. Gifts are a disconcerting sign of a bad idea’s progression, but who can say no to a leather collar with a disgustingly cute tag?</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>One of those hot summer nights, Ginny was pressing her fingers repeatedly deep into Pansy on the floor and Pansy was moaning in pleasure and Ginny was feeling pretty good about herself.</p>
<p>“Wait, wait, Impedimenta,” Pansy said, wincing. Ginny immediately pulled out and apologized with her eyes. “Just play with my clit for a minute, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Better?” Ginny asked as she circled her fingers against slippery skin.</p>
<p>“Mmmmmm,” Pansy confirmed, closing her eyes and relaxing against Ginny’s gentle touch.</p>
<p>Impedimenta meant slow down, Petrificus Totalus was full stop, and Accio meant please more. Accio quickly became the most frequently spoken word in their tent. Every once and a while they’d accidentally cause random objects to fly at them midcoitus. (Fortunately they were usually too distracted to cast many accidentally wandless summoning charms.)</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Mid August came along with a bank holiday whose sole purpose was to provide the British Wizarding World with a three day weekend. The Ministry opened international borders for the floo networks involved in the World Cup, so naturally Quidditch fans all over the world decided to observe the obscure British holiday too. Thousands of fans returned to the World Cup Stadium and the adjacent wooded campground. <i>Lugar Divertido/Sports Fan Village</i> welcomed everybody back with long lasting Happy Hour drink specials and every different genre of very loud music. Tents that stood empty Monday through Friday lit up as elaborate weekend homes filled with witches and wizards. </p>
<p>Neighboring tents formed communities and there were more bonfires and parties than ever. Even with the seekers out of play, the Top Box continued to be the center of the Elite’s never-ending cocktail party. During the day partying fans packed the stadium to the gills. While the players had to keep playing around the clock, the fans took plenty of time to celebrate the ridiculously high scores at night.</p>
<p>On Saturday night, Ginny walked out of the lower stadium seating where she had been recording the game and spending time with her family. As she bid them goodnight, Ron and George counted their winnings; they had won that bet that this would go down in history as the longest game of Quidditch in record. Ginny let a broad grin cover her face as she walked through the crowds to where she and Pansy had arranged to meet.</p>
<p>The elegantly slouched witch was there waiting next to a booze and candy stand. She was sipping on a pisco sour and holding a chocolate frog in her hand. </p>
<p>“Gingersnap finally here to grace me with her presence?” Pansy teased. She passed Ginny the chocolate frog, which leapt from it’s wrapper. “I got you a new pet. Arnold chewed up my favorite eyeliner, so I turned him into a hacky sack.”</p>
<p>“A what?” Ginny asked, knowing full well that Arnold IV was probably happily curled up at the foot of Pansy’s bed as they spoke. </p>
<p>“And <i>you’re</i> supposed to be the blood traitor.” Pansy rolled her eyes and Ginny ate the chocolate frog. She really wanted to lean in to kiss her walking contradiction of a roommate, but knew she couldn’t in public. So she kicked Pansy in the shin instead.</p>
<p>“Woah, leave the violence for the bedroom,” Pansy said. “Also, I saw Loony Lovegood. She’ll be coming back and asked us to wait for her. Needed to do something about a Buckhorned-Whatever.”</p>
<p>“Don’t call her that,” Ginny replied automatically, mouth full of chocolate frog. “It’ll be nice to see Luna.”</p>
<p>On cue, Luna showed up with Rolf in tow, goofy smiles on both of their faces.</p>
<p>“We’ve all been invited to a party!” Luna told them. She pointed down the path and clasped Ginny’s hand. Tiptoeing toward the fairy lights, she whispered, “We are taller when we walk among the trees.”</p>
<p>Shrugging at Pansy, Ginny let Luna pull her down the forest path, the other two trailing after them. They arrived at a bonfire where a live band filled the forest with folk music and the fire illuminated the faces of people who danced and laughed between the trees. Many dancers danced in pairs, waving around glowing scarves.</p>
<p>“That’s a strange rhythm,” Pansy said, watching the musicians with a look of deep focus. Luna started to clap, attempting to stay in time with the music and failing miserably. Ginny felt her hips swaying and didn’t stop them. An older woman grinned up at her from a stool and said something in Spanish. Her translation spells had taken to giving people cottonmouth, and she decided that subjecting the woman to her bad accent and minimalist vocabulary was the lesser of two evils.</p>
<p>“Hola! Lo siento,” Ginny waved, saying one of the few phrases she’d learned.  “Mi español es muy malo.”</p>
<p>Chuckling, the woman started miming something that Ginny didn’t understand. Ginny responded with self-deprecating smiles before Pansy intervened in Spanish. The old woman looked at the two of them critically and then conjured two little glowing handkerchiefs to hand to each of them. </p>
<p>“She says it’s cueca music,” Pansy explained. “And that dance they’re doing with the scarves. She says somebody will come to ask us to dance soon if we keep standing here looking this gorgeous.”</p>
<p>As if to illustrate the point, a gentleman approached Ginny and gestured for her to dance with him. She went willingly, knowing that Pansy was watching, torn between her avoidance of public displays of affection and the awkwardness of standing alone. </p>
<p>“No puedo bailar mucho bueno,” Ginny said, tripping over the words and her feet. The young man she was dancing with didn’t seem to understand her atrocious accent, but he definitely understood the sentiment. His laugh was kind though he winced at Ginny’s complete inability to keep the beat. Ginny had no idea what she was doing, so she just swished her long hair around and shook the glowing handkerchief as she tried to imitate the girls dancing around her. </p>
<p>Thankfully, Pansy swooped in, said something really fast to the wizard Ginny had been dancing with.  His eyes widened and he nodded at Ginny and bowed out.</p>
<p>“You’re doing it wrong. I told him that you needed my help.” Pansy smirked. “He agreed.”</p>
<p>“Hey!” Ginny never stopped moving to the music. “I happen to be a fantastic dancer. At least I’m better than Luna.”</p>
<p>They both glanced over to where Luna and Rolf were swatting at the air around their heads and spinning in circles. Luna wore the glowing scarf as a headband.</p>
<p>“Barely. But it’s alright, cupcake. I’m here to help.”</p>
<p>“Right, because <i>you</i> are an expert at Chilean folk dancing. You’re so full of it.”</p>
<p>But Ginny conceded and went to take Pansy’s hand. Pansy, pulled away at the same time the older woman wagged her finger at them.</p>
<p>“It’s all about being a tease,” Pansy explained, clearly sharing freshly acquired knowledge. She continued in a low voice. “So you should be a natural… if only we can get a hold on this beat. It’s completely different from anything else I’ve heard. It’s in ¾ but it’s not a waltz at all… maybe it’s in 6/8?”</p>
<p>“Shut up.” Ginny tossed her hair back and began teasing. “Dance.”</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me what to do.” Pansy raised an eyebrow, along with a handkerchief and a foot. “So, that old witch said it’s supposed to imitate the courting of a Hen and a Rooster.”</p>
<p>“So… I’m the chick and you’re the cock then?”</p>
<p>“You’re prettier when you’re not talking,” Pansy replied, her dark eyes twinkling. Gracefully, she eased into the same footwork as the wizards around them. Then, as if illustrating expert poultry flirtation she waggled the handkerchief in front of her face. “And you’re not allowed to touch me.”</p>
<p>“So just like normal whenever we’re in public then?” Ginny laughed, trying to do whatever grapevine like step work the Chilean witches were doing. </p>
<p>“No, gingersnap, this is much more publicly sensual than I’d usually permit. Enjoy it while it lasts.”</p>
<p>Ginny didn’t have a snappy reply to that and the music was loud anyways, so she danced. Pansy’s movements hinted at the wizarding ballet lessons she’d clearly taken as a child. No surprise. She moved like silk and klaves. Three months ago, if anyone had told Ginny that Pansy Parkinson would be willing to publicly attempt a foreign folk dance Ginny would’ve checked them for dark magic. But now? Ginny wasn’t surprised at all.</p>
<p>She wasn’t surprised by the way Pansy’s narrow shoulders rolled suggestively or the way her wide hips caught the strange beat. Ginny felt judging eyes watching them, and though Pansy must have noticed too, she kept her eyes locked with Ginny’s. How exhilarating, that neither of them cared. Out of the corner of Ginny’s eye she saw a group of old wizards glaring at them and grumbling among themselves, but to most people the two of them were likely passing as friends. Which they were, Ginny reminded herself. Remembering the whole “temporary friends with benefits” situation sparked frustration in Ginny, exacerbated by not being able to touch Pansy. It was almost enough to make her stop dancing. </p>
<p>Those hips though, Ginny fixated. Those dark eyes. That conniving smirk and infuriating little handkerchief. That dark hair and pale skin. Those overpriced but luxurious robes. The ones that Ginny would tear off of her as soon as they got back to the tent. Pansy’s eyes told Ginny that the fantasies were reciprocal.Surely, Luna and Rolf wouldn’t mind if they left now.</p>
<p>In the middle of Ginny’s thought, her previous dance partner approached them and spoke in Spanish. Ginny, cursing her lack of studies, couldn’t understand a word. It seemed like he was requesting another dance, or suggesting that Pansy shouldn’t be dancing the man’s part. The Slytherin witch replied dramatically on Ginny’s behalf and grabbed her hand. Ginny shrugged at the man whose eyebrows were up to his hairline in surprise and Pansy pulled her away.</p>
<p>“What?” Ginny asked, befuddled. “Where are we--”</p>
<p>“We’re going to the tent, it’s very late.”</p>
<p>“It’s not that late.”</p>
<p>“Yes it is.”</p>
<p>“Okay, well I need to go tell Luna.”</p>
<p>“Fine.” Pansy let Ginny go. “Go kiss Luna goodnight and get your fine ass back here. You have 30 seconds.”</p>
<p>Ginny rolled her eyes but obeyed without remorse. Cueca dancing could wait for a different day (although to be honest. Ginny was pretty sure she’d never get the hang of it). Luna and Rolf bid her goodnight and Luna gave Ginny a knowing smile that she pointedly ignored.</p>
<p>“That was more than 30 seconds, darling. I don’t appreciate you wasting my time.”</p>
<p>Ginny grabbed the smirking Pansy roughly by the wrist and steered them homeward.</p>
<p>“What were you saying to that guy?” she demanded, as Pansy lazily allowed herself to be dragged down the path.</p>
<p>“Just that you were my super sexy scissor sister and that he could not dance with you because I had to take you home before you did anything stupid. He won’t tell any Brits.”</p>
<p>“For heathen’s sake.” Ginny stole Pansy’s phrase frequently nowadays. They spent so much time together it appeared that Pansy-isms were rubbing off on her. She turned to glare at her ‘scissor sister.’ “What would I do that would be stupid?”</p>
<p>“Well, I know you were undressing me with your eyes.” Pansy’s expression was the definition of cocky. Perhaps she was embracing the cock/hen dancing style. “But it won’t be a problem once you have me in your bed. And I’m bringing these handkerchiefs with us.”</p>
<p>Their strides were long and intentional as they continued past more parties and music. They craved only each other. Ginny intentionally scared Pansy by pulling her behind a tree and pressing their bodied flush with the trunk. Hidden from view but just barely. Pansy breath would hitch as Ginny would run her hands just barely up her skirt before roughly pulling them back to the path. Then they’d walk further down the path not daring to touch. Until they needed to hide behind a pop-up bar-tent so that Ginny could let her hands roam up and down Pansy’s body and press lips to her exposed neck and collar bones. </p>
<p> But they needed to get back to their tent, and fast. Again, she pulled Pansy back to the path and toward their tent. However, Pansy seized control by digging her nails into Ginny’s hand. She pulled a reluctant Ginny into a small yet luxurious tent where they found Blaise Zabini.</p>
<p>“Cheers, Blaise,”</p>
<p>“Dear me, for what do I owe the pleasure?”</p>
<p>“I’ve come to use you for your drugs. I just want that blue dream sativa but laced with Voluptincture and some crushed Egyption rose pedals,” Pansy said, all business. Then she directed a smile towards Ginny and said, “Trust me, you’ll like it.”</p>
<p>Ginny knew this was the moment and nodded shakily. This was the idea Pansy had alluded to over cocktails. They were feeling <i>inspired.</i></p>
<p>“Yes ma’am,” Blaise said, quickly measuring out a little baggy. “Salazar, you two are less subtle than Draco and Scarhead.”</p>
<p>“Shush, Blaise,” Pansy said smiling. She tossed some coins onto his table and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “We’d love to stay but-”</p>
<p>“No, please go. <i>Ciao bellas.</i>”</p>
<p>“Oh, just a second, Blaise. Don’t be rude.” Ginny knew Pansy was taking a moment to be especially rude. “I love this piece.”</p>
<p>Pansy plucked out a nug to place in the empty bowl of his giant snake ornamented bong (it was indeed a beautiful work of glass art). After sprinkling on some red dust she took a rip and held in the milky smoke. Then she did something that Ginny wasn’t expecting at all. The smaller witch grabbed Ginny around the waist and pulled them into what seemed like it was going to be a surprisingly public kiss, but turned out to be an expertly persecuted shotgun. Ginny inhaled the sparkling pink smoke. Pansy ripped the bong one more time and breathed sparkling smoke into Ginny’s mouth again, this time purples and blues. Their lips grazed together and Ginny practically swooned.</p>
<p>Pansy had practically kissed her in front of Blaise. Twice. </p>
<p>“As much fun as this is <i>not</i>, please get out of my tent you insufferable daughters of Sapho,” Blaise drawled. Pansy threw him the two fingered salute before strutting out of the tent. </p>
<p>“Uh, bye Zabini. Thanks.”  She followed Pansy out into the night air, her body floating like bubbles in prosecco. They had by no means needed the boost, but the buzz layered so perfectly with their natural chemistry. </p>
<p>When they finally made it to their tent, Pansy immediately drew the curtains and cast a locking charm on the door and a privacy ward on the fireplace.</p>
<p>“Eat this,” Pansy commanded, pulling out the baggy and handing Ginny some of what Blaise had given them.</p>
<p>“I thought we’re supposed to smoke it?”</p>
<p>“It’s magic, gingersnap. We can do whatever the fuck we want.” </p>
<p>Grinning, Ginny shrugged, popped it into her mouth, and made a face at the strange floral, potion-y taste. </p>
<p>“You make me absolutely insane, Weasley,” Pansy growled, kicking off her heels and throwing her purse to the ground. “You’re just so bleeding cute and perfect, it’s disgusting.”</p>
<p>“Parkinson, you are mad all on your own. Absolutely fucking crazy, in the text book kind of way. Not to mention you’re a total bitch.” Ginny shouted back. “And it’s so bloody hot. You’re evil and--”</p>
<p>“You love it. You can’t get enough.” Pansy smirked and slowly raised her wand. “I’m going to charm you, it’ll activate what you just ate. You’ll like it, I promise. <i>Voluptatem!</i>”</p>
<p>Pansy’s spell hit her and the effect was beyond feelings. The taste of strawberry shortcake, the rush of flying above the trees, the lingering touches of Pansy’s fingers from yesterday. The flood of sensation made Ginny wet and shaking, but before the pleasure mounted too far, Pansy let her go. She nearly fell to the floor gasping. </p>
<p>“I’m just going to give you what you deserve now.”</p>
<p>That was it for Ginny. That was absolutely it. A pleasure spell so drastically different from the Cruciatus Curse. Memories of pain started to come to mind, but the pleasure Pansy had given her just then countered the pain from the past, and passion was flowing freely through the parts of her body that trauma had clogged up. </p>
<p>This was about to get really fun. </p>
<p>“Oh, so that’s how we’re playing this? Cause I’m not gonna hold back.” She raised her own wand. “You’re going down. Expelliarmus!”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“Expelliarmus!” Ginny shouts and my wand flies out of my hand. She catches it without a thought and I let the sexiness of her athleticism make me mad. Mad in a very floaty, ecstatic  way. The tent spins and I imagine that we are riding on a spinning top toy that might never fall. It's centrifugal force, and this powerful feeling in our centers is the axis we’re spinning around.</p>
<p>She looks at me, her eyes blazing and pupils huge. Sure, pleasure spells and magical drugs are helping us heal from the past, but what can I say? It feels so good and we’re humans. We use tools. Witches use magic. We deserve decadent pleasure.</p>
<p>“I’m going down, then?” I say, letting my voice drip with suggestion.</p>
<p>“If you’re lucky.”</p>
<p>“I don’t need my wand to slap you across the face,” I tell her, remembering a secret desire she’d once confessed over a Pisco Landi. “But unfortunately for me I took the brains and left the brawn to you. So, very brave of you disarming me when we both know I’d win a duel but you’d win a brawl.”</p>
<p>“I’d win both.”</p>
<p>Then she kisses me and it’s like cold water on a hot day at the same time that it burns me alive. My toes tingle, and the sensation rises up my legs to pulse hungrily in my core. We’re on fire. We’re spinning and spinning, refusing to accept gravity. I’ve gently let myself spiral out of control. Control is something I’ve always clung to, and yet I am entirely ready to give it to this woman. </p>
<p>I remind myself to fight back though, because she needs to <i>win</i>. I lunge at her and grab her by the shoulders, my nails digging into her hard muscles. This will leave marks; my nails are sharp and the adrenaline coursing through my body could draw blood by sheer force of energy. Between kisses, I breath in her floral scent mingled with the smell of human. And oh god her red, gold, strawberry hair. So familiar and still so mystifying.  </p>
<p>Her hand finds the small of my back and pulls up the bottom of my blouse so that she can press hot hands against my skin. I reach around to scratch down her back. She pulls my hair hard and I moan. She’s biting my ear lobe. She’s kissing my neck, sinking her teeth into the vulnerable skin right above my collar bone.  Pain shoots down my neck, through my racing heart and sending pleasure through me. </p>
<p>My blouse is off, and it’s on the floor, and I don’t care. </p>
<p>“Take off your bra.”</p>
<p>Obediently I do, and my breasts bounce free, nipples erect and ready to be fondled, to be sucked, to be twisted and pulled.</p>
<p>“Take off your skirt.”</p>
<p>I do, revealing black lace thong and voluptuous thighs. I can tell that her mouth is watering over me, salivating. The corner of my mouth pulls up but before I can pull out my trademark ‘Pansy Smirk’ she grabs me violently, spins me around and bends me over our leather sofa. We both pause for a moment there, her freckled hands grabbing my hips and my back arched to showcase my fabulous ass, the black lace thong challenging her..</p>
<p>“I dare you,” I say. I know Ginny can’t resist a dare.</p>
<p> She slaps my ass, a satisfying clap in the night air. I’m highly aware that she is still fully clothed and I am almost completely naked. She slaps me again, not taking it easy on me at all and putting her full Quidditch player strength behind it. I let out a quick scream. </p>
<p>“I’m waiting,” I mock her.</p>
<p>“Yeah? What do you dare me to do Parkinson?”</p>
<p>“I dare you to fuck me.”</p>
<p>“Beg me.” </p>
<p>“I don’t beg.”</p>
<p>“We’ll see about that,” she says, conjuring a red leather whip and slapping it hard across my already stinging skin. I let out a moan of blended pain and pleasure.</p>
<p>I ache to undress her, but she has my hands behind my back, held forcedly with one hand. She must have set down the whip for a moment, because her other hand is exploring my naked body now. Tender, as if braille spells poetry across my skin.</p>
<p>Without warning Ginny drags me to the kitchenette and throws me onto the chair and raises her wand. Before she has a chance though, I whisper, “Conjure ropes and tie me up by hand, better than just doing it all by magic.” </p>
<p>“I’m the one giving the orders here.” Ginny’s whip falls down fast on my thigh and I gasp out in painful delight. Deciding to follow my suggestion, she conjures ropes and enjoys tying me to the hard wooden chair herself. She fumbles a little but delights in pulling the ropes tight. We’re giddy. Will I bruise or get ropeburn? Once my arms are restrained and my chest is covered in ropes that restrict movement she leans down to kiss me sweetly on the lips. </p>
<p>“I’ve never done this before…” she whispers. Her brown eyes are full of feeling, pupils chasmic. “Am I doing okay?”</p>
<p>“Yes. You’re amazing,” I whisper back. “There’s a spell, incantation is<i> voluptignis</i>. It’ll make the tip of your wand burn me without leaving scars. It’s related to that pleasure spell I cast on you earlier. I love it. But there are other ways to torture me as well, with which I know you’re perfectly experienced.”</p>
<p>“Silence wench!” Ginny commands, standing high over me. She stifles a giggle and I raise an eyebrow at her drama. She takes that as an opportunity to whip me hard on my legs, making my bite my tongue. “It’s volutigis?”</p>
<p>“<i>Voluptignis</i> The same wand movement for <i>Incendio</i>.” </p>
<p>She successfully casts the spell and I cry out when she strokes my jawline with the burning wand. The spell adapts to exactly the peaking point of my pain tolerance.</p>
<p>“That hurts, doesn’t it?” she taunts.</p>
<p>I can only gasp a nonverbal answer. Last night I told her my preferred kinks into her ear in lue of bedtime stories. She knows exactly what I want. She drags the burning hot wand across my collar bone and down my naked chest, swooping to caress the bottom curves of my breasts. The wand burns down my soft belly, and then she drops the burning wand and lowers down to bite hard at the inside of my thigh. </p>
<p>Something melts inside me as she follows up with tender kisses up to my hip, where she nibbles again. Her slender, calloused fingers caress me, from hips to ribs; strong. Kisses sneak up my thighs and she pulls them apart. </p>
<p>When she’s breathing hot breath onto my cunt, it’s only the rope stopping me from rutting towards her mouth. It’s torture in the best way. Leaving me vulnerable and needy she stands up and turns around before stripping off her shirt. Merlin I hate her. Walking away from me, she crosses the living room to grab one the handkerchiefs we’d danced with earlier. Her shirt is off, but all I can see are summer freckles and the quidditch muscles of her back. The handkerchief mostly covers her front as she comes back to me. She never lets me see her topless self and I can tell she loves the power she has.</p>
<p>“Close your eyes,” she commands. Once my eyes close, I hear her jeans and belt dropping to the floor and her footsteps walking behind me. She ties the handkerchief  tightly around my head, darkening my vision. She burns the back of my neck with her wand and I arch against the ropes.  I want her as bad as I’ve ever wanted anybody. <i>More</i>. </p>
<p>Kissing and biting and burning and slapping. She tortures me to my limit before she’s kneeling in front of me again, tasting me, pressing her fingers into me, and bringing me to climax. Orgasms roll and I think the fuzzy, nearly incoherent thought that Ginny is one of the best people I’ve ever been with. She’s so <i>good</i>. </p>
<p>Then there are no other thoughts, just bliss as she fills me time and again, each climax reaching higher than the last. Ginny eventually pulls away and I start to recover as she releases me from the chair. Once she unties my blindfold I take in the sight of her body. She’s radiant and it hurts to look at her. Such a good hurt. </p>
<p>“Go lie down on your bed, face down.” </p>
<p>I obey, trembling. I take her in as we cross to the bedroom. She’s gloriously naked; a goddess, terrifying and beautiful. I lie down with my face in the pillow and she is formidable, sitting on my hips. The burning wand explores my back for a moment, but then Ginny apparently can’t stand it any longer. She ruts aggressively against me, lathering me in her juices. I realize that I’m hers, that I want to stay hers. She presses my head into the pillow, gripping her hand into my hair. Her hot breath gently touches my neck and she leaves accidentally open mouth kisses on my shoulders. We’re so close, closer than we’ve ever been before. As close as I’ve ever been to anyone. <i>Closer</i></p>
<p>“Turn around.”</p>
<p>She kisses my lips luxuriously once I’m on my back and looking up at her. I can taste myself on her and she moans against my mouth.</p>
<p>“Just one more thing?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Anything.”</p>
<p>“Scoot down, I’m going to sit on your face.</p>
<p>I nod and move down. My face is soaked, my jaw is sore, and she’s screaming in pleasure. My fingers find their way up so that she drops herself around them and I can barely breathe as she rides my hand. I’m out of breath by the time she lies down beside me. She pulls me into her arms. </p>
<p>My inhale is her inhale. Her exhale is my exhale. We’re silly puddy and we’re almost falling asleep together, our exhales slowing and softening together. </p>
<p>“Pansy,” she whispers. I love how she says my name. It’s not a question.</p>
<p>“Ginny.” I return the favor. She loves how I say her name too. I savor every place where our body’s touch. I can’t imagine that our body’s continue to exist without each other. </p>
<p> “I love y- voluptincture,” she murmurs into my hair and giggles. “I think I’m still really high.”</p>
<p>“You are,” I agree with a puff of laughter. “Me too. That was…”</p>
<p>“Mmmm.”  Her fingers are featherlight on my skin now, small moon shaped caresses. </p>
<p>“You have glitter on your shoulder,” I tell her sleepily. One fleck of gold, a reminder of the first time we hooked up. Magically, it is still in my bed, despite the frequent laundering of my sheets.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah, that stuff never goes away,” she says. Time bends a little bit. “So, we should do that again sometime.”</p>
<p>“If you’re lucky.”</p>
<p>“If you’re good.”</p>
<p>“I’m never good.”</p>
<p>A chuckle bounces her chest beneath my head, and we lay silent, on the verge of sleep. We force ourselves to get up to go pee and clean up, stopping to snog lazily against the bathroom door frame before falling back into my bed. </p>
<p>“Maybe we keep this up, for instance, after this game is over?” Cleaning up sobered us just the tiniest bit. Her voice aims for casual, and just misses. My buzz takes a hit.</p>
<p>“I doubt this game is ever going to end,” I say, avoiding answering directly. “I have absolutely no faith in our seekers or the aurors figuring out what’s adling their minds.”</p>
<p>Ginny notices my lack of an answer, but knows it’s not the right time. So she tilts my face up to hers and kisses me. My response is sleepy and hesitant, but I melt into her all the same. We fall asleep with the sweet buzz of sex and drugs overcoming the taste of heavy conversation.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>After hours of wonderful sleep I wake up to hear the birds of dawn telling me it’s not quite morning. The sky is still mostly dark and so my nocturnal body is willing to get out of bed. My intense need for water is a strong motivator. So I go to get myself a glass and though my body feels wonderful, my thoughts have come back full force. I replay her suggestion:</p>
<p>
  <i>“Maybe we keep this up, for instance, after the game is over?”</i>
</p>
<p><i>“No, gingersnap. Don’t do this,</i> I imagine saying to her. <i> “You’re too good. I could never be in a legitimate relationship with you… even if I might want that.  I’m getting married in less than two months for one, and you’d have to be my secret. It’s also becoming abundantly clear to me that I can’t have a strictly sex and friendship relationship with you… I don’t think that I could keep </i> this <i>up. I would want more than this. Much cleaner if this whole thing ends before we go back to London. I thought those boundaries were safely assumed.”</i></p>
<p>I had thought those boundaries were safely assumed, but I really should know better than to assume anything when Ginny and I are concerned. I drink the entire glass of water and refill it to go back to bed. When I see her lying on the bed my head spins. Not like a wild spinning top toy who does not answer to gravity, but rather like a maple helicopter seed who spins lower and lower down to the earth. </p>
<p>It’s unlikely that I’ll fall back asleep soon, so I pick up my sketchbook and charcoal. I want to draw this sleeping goddess so that when this trip is over and we are brought back to earth, I’ll have proof that this wasn’t all some crazy dream.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>At some point that night, Ginny realized that she was falling in love, powerless to its gravity.</p>
<p>When the sun rose the next day Ginny was careful not to jostle her bedmate, even though she knew Pansy could sleep through a centaur stampede. She enjoyed the silence of morning as she did her stretches. Once she threw on some clothes, she got up to get in some morning muscle building. A piece of parchment on the floor caught Ginny’s eyes as she began her squats.</p>
<p> Ginny recognized the charcoal as the same that stuck to sleepy Pansy’s metallic green nails and picked up the drawing to look at it. She wasn’t surprised to see that the picture was a portrait of her sleeping face, slow breaths puffing up strands of messy charcoal hair. Lately, Pansy had been drawing more and more of her. She must have woken up in the night, unable to sleep. </p>
<p>Vivaldi blared from the bouncing clock right as Ginny finished her workout. Ginny had memorized the timing over their summer together. Arnold appeared out of the blankets, ready to nuzzle Pansy awake. Once Pansy cursed the alarm clock and had her first sips of coffee, Ginny picked up the picture to show Pansy.</p>
<p>“So you creepily drew me while I was sleeping?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Pansy confirmed lazily. “I decided to leave out the drool. It wasn’t flattering. What do you think?”</p>
<p>“I love it, and I do not drool.”</p>
<p>While Pansy preened herself to prepare for the day Ginny threw on some fresh robes and made them both a veggie egg scramble. Mid breakfast an eagle owl flew in with a note for Pansy.</p>
<p>“It’s just Draco. He’s being needy.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>
  <i>Dear Pansy,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>We need to talk. Meet me by the creek where it pools. 2:00.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Yours,<br/>
Draco</i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh dear, what does Draco Malfoy have to tell us? whoooo knoooowwwss? (me, I wrote it haha)<br/>Anyways, if you liked it please let me know, thanks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. "Please don't be scared."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I want to throw a shout out to my favorite, vixishippei, for being here with me this whole journey with words of encouragement and inspiration. Thank you!</p><p>Alright loves, it's time for a little angst.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I can’t pretend I’m completely serene as I make my way through the woods to our secluded creek. Why did Draco feel the need to be so cryptic in his short letter? As I climb through the underbrush I see Draco’s light hair. He is already here, waiting for me, and this alone is cause for concern as he usually has the manners to be fashionably late. </p><p>“Draco,” I say in greeting, finding a seat on a moss covered rock.</p><p>“Well Pansy,” Draco’s cheerful smile does nothing to ease my suspicion, “aren’t you just the most sophisticated trollop I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>“Yes, I am,” I agree and affectionately squeeze his outstretched hand. Our fingers link for a moment before falling down. “So, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“Wrong? No, not at all. Nothing’s wrong.” Draco is staring at the water. “Everything’s actually completely right. For the first time.”</p><p>“And I quote: <i>’We need to talk. It’s urgent.’</i>” I don’t reach for a pack of cigarettes and I don’t kick off my shoes to dip my feet in the creek. My body is tense, waiting.</p><p>“Well, yes, it is a timely matter.” I can tell that Draco is also tense, though he pretends not to be. “And it’s good news really.”</p><p>My heart sinks. There’s a ‘but’ there.</p><p>“But it affects you. So, I’m a bit scared of your reaction. I hope you’ll be happy for me…” He trails off and he’s still avoiding my gaze. </p><p>“Of course you’re scared of me,” I tease. “I’m impressively intimidating and you’re afraid of flubberworms.” He doesn’t sass back but lets a puff of laughter loosen his shoulders. He finally looks at me and something sweet glimmers in his grey eyes. </p><p>“I’m going to marry Harry.”</p><p>“Pardon?” Oh shit.</p><p>“Harry Potter? You may have heard of him,” Draco says, arms crossed. “We’re going to get married.” </p><p>“But… like, legally? Are you even allowed to?”</p><p>“Don’t be dense, you know just as well as I that Kingsley and Granger pushed to get it legalized two years ago. The bill passed last May. You know this.” </p><p>I do know this, but sudden white fuzz in my brain is making it difficult to think. One of the only things I’ve been sure of since I was 14 years old has just been completely obliterated. A bit of certainty that has kept me grounded for over a decade has disappeared in a moment and has been replaced by a sweet glimmer in Draco’s eyes.</p><p>“I think it’ll be entirely socially acceptable soon, maybe even among purebloods.” Draco is pleading with me and it’s stirring up some panicked anger. “Harry deserves this.”</p><p>“But what about your parents? The Malfoy Estate. Doesn’t that matter to you?” I ask instead of the selfish question that’s pounding behind my eyes.</p><p>“The estate is already mine, remember? I have shared it half and half with Mother ever since Father’s incarceration. And Mother doesn’t care that I’m gay, she never did. She likes Harry.” </p><p>“Well bully for you.” I can’t look at him so I tear apart a leaf, letting the pieces fall onto my lap. He’s flaunting his warm relationship with Narcissa in my face. “I know all that.”</p><p>“Yes, you do.” Draco wears the very worst facial expression: kindness. “So…”</p><p>“So what?”</p><p>“Pansy, talk to me.” He waits and I don’t look up, searching for words. </p><p>“What about me?” When I speak, my voice is softer and wetter than I would ever willingly allow. He lets my selfish question hang, fragile in the air for a few seconds. </p><p>“I don’t want to have to find a different fiancé,” I continue with a stronger voice, unable to stand the silence. I tilt my head up at the sky, blinking to dry my eyes, and with a small flick of my hair, I hide all traces of vulnerability. “Hecate, the pool is pretty fucking small considering the incessant incest, and they’re all a lot of prejudiced creeps.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s quite unfortunate that you’re getting the bad end of this, but honestly, you don’t need to live a lie either. This could be an opportunity. Could be good for y--”</p><p>“Don’t.” I point my finger at him. Now that I’m looking at him my glare is sharp. “Don’t tell me what’s good for me.”</p><p>“You’re a Sapphist, darling.” He dares to smile. “I’m a poof. In no universe does that mean we’re supposed to get married to each other.”</p><p>“You’ve forgotten yourself, Draco,” I scold him. “Marriage isn’t about <i>sexuality</i>.”</p><p>“That’s not what-”</p><p>“And it’s not about romance either!”</p><p>“Don’t be-”</p><p>“No,” I barrel on. “It’s not about all that. Marriage is an agreement and a commitment and it’s money and reproduction and continuing our legacy. It’s about preserving our pureblood culture. Even though we’ve both grown past believing that muggleborns are inferior, that doesn’t mean we must completely abandon our roots.”</p><p>
  <i>You don’t have to abandon me.</i>
</p><p>“Fine, suit yourself.” Draco’s smile has disappeared. “But before you find a random inbred wizard to shack up with, maybe you ought to consider that <i>we </i>are the pureblood legacy. We get to decide what that means and how to become good ancestors.”</p><p>Since when is Draco Mr. Moral Highground? Would marrying some 'random inbred wizard' make me a bad ancestor? Since when do we care about this 'good' vs 'bad' nonsense anyways? These questions burn in me, but I remain silent, because as I look at his sincere expression, I realize this ethical awakening has been coming for some time. Over the past decade we’ve read all the same progressive books, owling articles back and forth across oceans, and deconstructing each other’s prejudice from a distance. Knowing I’m being unfair to Draco layers self loathing on top of the shocking loss of our platonic engagement and the stability that went with it. The ground feels unsteady beneath me.</p><p>“Look, I’ll obviously return your preliminary witch’s dowry plus consolation funds from me,” he says and it’s a punch in the gut. </p><p>“You think it’s about money?” Yeah, sure. You wanker. My chest hurts and I can’t tell if I’m breathing. “It’s not that. Not at all, Draco it’s that...” deep breath “You promised me.”</p><p>“Oh Pans,” he says, gently. “I’ll always be there for you. I still promise that. But I need this. I love him.”</p><p>We sit in silence for a long while, both watching the rippling reflections in the stream. The burbling water harkens back to when we used to play in a little creek like this as children. It was our secret muddy escape. Memories of teenage confessions and promises over stolen fine wine and cigarettes flood through me and I realize that Draco’s not going anywhere. He’s marrying Harry, but he’ll always be my best friend.</p><p>I take a deep breath and let out a sigh which turns into a tiny laugh-sob. Draco reaches out to hold my hand and I let him. He knows that change can be hard for me, and surely enough, the overly familiar first signs of a looming depressive episode are unapologetically apparent. I feel heavy, tired, and deeply cold. Predicting one’s negative mood is ill-advised and not an exact science though, and Draco needs me to be happy for him. I will try to be.</p><p>I kick off my heels and dip my toes in the water. Draco follows in suit, feet splashing lightly in the water next to mine.</p><p>Besides, I am intrigued by one thing: Draco knows that he loves Harry. I picture a wet-haired Ginny laughing and swimming here with me that day I apologized. My Italian leather boots were covered in mud and she challenged me to two truths and a lie “cold water edition.” I can perfectly remember her look of disappointment when I told her that I didn’t want to be friends. She didn’t know at the time, of course, that I didn’t want to be <i>just</i> friends. Thinking of her simultaneously softens those hints of depression while also provoking a frenzied anxiety. Would I even know if I was in love? Perhaps I could learn something from my lovesick ex-fiance.</p><p>“Oh for heathen’s sake.” I roll my eyes. “When did we become a couple of Hufflepuffs? Look, it’s whatever. Be happy. But as I’m your lady of honor I think you should be prepared for black balloons.”</p><p>“Oh? Well I could just make Greg my best man and demote you to groomsmaid.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t dare. I’m intimidating, remember?” I shove him so that he nearly falls off his rock.  </p><p>“Besides, Greg’ best man’s speech wouldn’t be more than a couple of grunts. Not so moving as my inspiring peroration. I’ll include some of your finests, like that adorable time you mixed firewhiskey and tequila at the first annual Battle Memorial you attended. Remember? We were 20 and Potter was there. We thought he was with Ginny, and you puked on my favorite red pumps. Good times.”</p><p>“Oh for Salazthar’s sake.”</p><p>“Or maybe I’ll tell everyone how you’re irrationally afraid of werewolves, hippogriffs, and cheap shampoo. How you used to be secretly afraid of your new husband”</p><p>“You wouldn’t.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t I, though?” I smirk. “I could tell them about those poems you wrote about Harry when we were in 5th year. You always had such a way with word, and I’m pretty sure I’ve memorized the better of your teenage sonnets--”</p><p>“Don’t you dare.”</p><p>“What eyes like emeralds earn the depths of my heart!”</p><p>“Silence, harlot.”</p><p>“How doth thine hair be such unholy art!”</p><p>“I have avoided commiting murder thus far and I’d loath for you to tempt my wrath, you scubbet.” Draco’s voice is flat and resigned to my taunting. His suffering is my pleasure.</p><p>“Oh what would work to woo thy wooden wand?”</p><p>“Be careful or I’ll push you in.” </p><p>“Tis  known in heaven I would use my hand!”</p><p>Draco kicks a great splash at me and I exact my revenge. We spend quite some time playing like kittens of a litter do -if cats liked water, that is. It’s odd how one can sometimes feel immeasurably sad and so goofily playful at the same time. When we are both soaked from the knee down we stare up at the blue sky, letting it all settle in. Draco speaks lightly, but I know he’s speaking with great intention.</p><p>“So, we made an agreement to always hold each other accountable, right? So just a quick reality check: You and I are in a rare position of power where our basic life choices, like who to marry, can dismantle more than just our own lives.” As Draco speaks I continue to look up, trying my best to just listen without judgement even though the word ‘dismantle’ makes me feel a bit unhinged.</p><p>“My choice here is not just because I’m in love with Harry. I also feel that I have a duty to break our engagement for the sake of future generations. That’s more important than a duty to 15th century Malfoys,” he says. My mind wanders to my duty to Grandmother and I’m not convinced. </p><p>Hecate, all this love and learning is doing crazy shit to my best friend. He sounds absolutely red and gold. He’s reminding me of Hermione and my feelings on the matter directly contradict each other: disgust and admiration.</p><p>“Imagine,” Draco teases, “if you stopped trying to please your impossible and unredeeming parents, maybe you’d get the ovaries to finally pull the moves on… oh. Wait. What!<i> Pansy Parkinson, you shagged Ginny Weasley!”</i></p><p>“Nearly every day this month.” I abandon my staring contest with the sky  to wink at Draco. I love how he reads my microexpressions with practiced accuracy. “But shh. I don’t kiss and tell.”</p><p>“Like hell you don’t. How did I not know this?”</p><p>“You’ve had a one track mind. Busy shagging your own Gryffindor.”</p><p>While I tell Draco about the nighttime flying and our first kiss up in the tree, I feel that my pleasure is shallow. I make the story short because underneath the gossipy mood I’m trying to present, I feel kind of sick. Existentially exhausted.</p><p>Eventually we dry off, clean up, leave the water, and go back to face the World Cup campground.  We get past the underbrush out onto the forest path, where people are walking, talking, and laughing. It’s jarring, but I try to stay present with Draco.</p><p>“And Pans?” he says. “About the reproduction and legacy bit. We could still do that, you know. Have kids. Not as a pureblood thing, but as an us thing. ”</p><p>“As if.” I scoff and swat his arm. “You'd make the ugliest babies that have ever disgraced Hecate’s green earth.”</p><p>Everything is close to fine when we’re together like this and I’m distracted, but when Draco and I kiss cheeks and part ways I feel shaky and unsure. What will my parents say when they find out I’ve lost my fiance? What is Ginny going to say? Am I a bad person if I marry some random pureblood wizard? Am I a bad person if I don’t? </p><p>I swallow and lengthen my strides as I walk through the wood, but my thoughts only churn faster. Do I want kids? Or am I going to live alone forever? I’m not getting any younger. Should I come out to my parents or is that selfish? Or is it selfish not to come out? Maybe I’m just a selfish, bad person no matter what I do. Maybe that’s just who I am. Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I do.</p><p>As I pass by witches and wizards on the wooded path I try to push aside the onslaught of memories that confirm this I’m-a-bad-person theory. Unfortunately, if I’m not thinking about guilty memories, my uncertain mind turns towards contemplating a bleak future. What if Potter still hates me? What if Ginny secretly still hates me too? What if I still hate myself? What if… what if… </p><p>No. I just need to go lay down in the tent by myself for a little bit. I’ll avoid Ginny tonight too. What if I’m in love and don’t know it? What if I don’t know how to love? I might just stay in bed all day tomorrow and owl that international brooms specialist from Belgium and cancel. It’s been a very long time since I’ve played sick and maybe now is the time. This stupid game is going to go on forever anyways. I’m so tired. Today, I miss my apartment in Chelsea. </p><p>***</p><p>Ginny left Harry’s tent that evening with a bounce in her step. As she strode back to <i>the Prophet</i> tent, she buzzed with excitement at the good news that Harry had shared at dinner. He’d invited only Ginny, Ron, and Hermione over to his tent for curry and once they all had mouths full of marsala he told them about his plans to wed Draco Malfoy. </p><p>While Ron had slapped him hard on the back, swearing loudly, Hermione had squeezed his hand with <i>“I knew it” </i>written all over her face. As for Ginny, she jumped on top of him in a tackle hug, but she was also thrilled for her own reasons. Draco was marrying Harry, which meant that he was most definitely not marrying Pansy. Pansy wasn’t marrying him. Now Pansy could be free to date other people. Free to date Ginny. </p><p>Things were going so well between Ginny and Pansy too. Gloriously well. Last night, when they were closer than they’d ever been, Ginny finally understood why Pansy once said they weren’t friends. They were obviously more than that and had been for months. Ginny had surprised herself too, when she had almost blurted out three crazy words. <i> “I love y-voluptincture.” </i> </p><p>Pansy could have broken her so easily, but she must have forgotten to be a bitch for a second, because she’d been gentle. Gentle, tender, and careful. Ginny had been relieved to see that Pansy was breakable too.</p><p>So when Ginny entered their tent she was surprised. Usually Pansy would be spread out on the couch with parchment covering the table and a glass of wine in hand. Tonight, however, the black candles remained unlit and only a bit of moonlight filtered through the trees to bring any light into the room. The high stainglassed panels were opaque and dark.</p><p>“Hello?” Ginny called, slinging down her bag and taking off her shoes. Nobody answered. Odd, maybe Pansy was off with friends. In the past couple weeks, however, they’d set a standard of letting each other know or inviting the other to join. Although, in truth, they’d been doing more staying in alone together than meeting other people anyways. Arnold IV didn’t roll up to greet her as usual either. On veteren’s impulse she reached for her wand and didn’t light the candles.</p><p>Ginny peeked her head through her bedroom door. The pale blue comforter looked as untouched as it had two days ago. So she turned to look at Pansy’s closed door. She wasn’t sure if they had a knocking on closed doors kind of relationship or not, so she erred on the side of caution to lightly tap on the wood.</p><p>There was no answer, so Ginny went and opened it anyway. Seeing that Pansy’s room was unlit she almost closed the door, but then she made out Pansy’s unmoving form on the bed. Ginny checked her watch, which read 8:13, which was not even close to when Pansy would usually go to bed.</p><p>“Hey, babe,” Ginny said softly, taking a step into the room. “You okay?”</p><p>Pansy didn’t move. She must have taken a nap that was lasting too long. Everyone needs extra sleep every now and again, Ginny thought, and maybe she’d stir to wakefulness for a minute to hear Harry and Draco’s good news. Ginny quietly slid out of her jeans and crawled into bed next to Pansy. She covered her bare legs with Pansy’s blanket and propped her head on her hand so that she could look down at Pansy’s dimly lit face.</p><p>“Hey,” Ginny whispered, seeing that Pansy’s eyes were open and staring blankly in front of her. “You’re awake.”</p><p>Pansy didn’t respond and continued lying on her side, eyes looking somewhere very far away.  </p><p>“Pansy?” Ginny’s concern grew. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Pansy blinked slowly, in a daze, and almost looked at Ginny. Ginny took a deep breath but Pansy spoke before she could start interrogating her.</p><p>“Nothing. I’m just tired.”</p><p>“Oh,” Ginny nodded. “Tired. That makes sense. We didn’t sleep very much last night and I know you did a lot of interviews and drafting today. How did it all go?”</p><p>Pansy took a while before answering. </p><p>“It didn’t,” she said, sighing and closing her eyes. “I didn’t go. Don’t feel very well.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ginny’s heart swelled with sympathy. Pansy did look rather pale. “You’re sick?”</p><p>“I don’t feel well,” Pansy repeated faintly. “I should just sleep.”</p><p>“Well, that was sudden. You felt amazing last night. Maybe we’ve been overdoing it?” Ginny laughed softly and raised the back of her free hand to Pansy’s forehead, “I can’t tell if you feel warm… Have you eaten? I could make some soup. My mum has this great chicken noodle recipe-”</p><p>“I’m not hungry.”</p><p>Ginny paused and stroked the side of Pansy’s face, the same place she had sensually burned the previous night. Pansy didn’t react. It was as if she’d used a freezing charm and Ginny couldn’t reverse it. </p><p>“I could make you tea, echinacea,” Ginny offered, brushing her feet against Pansy’s legs beneath the blankets. “And did you hear Draco’s good news-”</p><p>“No.” Pansy rolled onto her back away from Ginny. “No, I just want to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”</p><p>Oh, okay then. Ginny slowly sat up, telling herself that she shouldn’t feel too bothered. Pansy had every right to have her bed to herself for one night when she didn’t feel well. Ginny recognized her dismissal and turned to go. As she did, she spotted the mostly empty tumbler of gin on Pansy’s bedside table next to a full vial of her blue potion that Ginny knew she was supposed to take before bed. </p><p>Ginny wanted to say <i>‘Replacing your mood stabilizing potion with alcohol? No wonder you don’t feel well’</i> but she held her tongue. While she could grudgingly admit that it wasn’t her place to judge, she couldn’t help but feel unsettled. She’d been so excited to see Pansy to talk about Draco’s cancelling of their betrothal. To maybe do more than talk about it. Then she’d found Pansy lying on bed, unmoving with eyes open, completely uninterested in hearing good news. So, with just a pinch of self righteousness and a large scoop of disquiet she placed the blue potion on Pansy’s chest.</p><p>“Thank you,” Pansy said, wrapping her fingers around the vial. “Goodnight.”</p><p>Ginny heard Arnold the IV purring loudly from Pansy’s pillow and her shoulders relaxed. The Pygmy Puff had it right, of course. Poor Pansy clearly wasn’t feeling well and they should take care of her. Clearly she needed to be left alone tonight and would feel better in the morning.<br/>
***</p><p>
  <i>Ginny is smiling at me as she walks slowly toward me through the trees. Her long white gown  drags lazilly on the pine needle floor and a crown of flowers glows against her red hair. The sun dapples on her skin and it’s the most peaceful thing I’ve ever seen. </i>
</p><p><i>Draco and my mother are hiding up in the trees cackling with laughter and the bride trips. Suddenly her hands are covered in blood. When she tilts her head up to me, she’s shocked. Dripping in fear, she starts to cry red tears. </i>I know I’m dreaming now, but I can’t wake up. Can’t open my eyes to look away. So, stuck in a nightmare, I see my own blood covered hands and her dress is bleeding too. Anything once white is painted red and screaming. I can taste iron.</p><p>“You should have known,” Draco whispers, now right in my ear.</p><p>“You ruin everything you touch,” my mother says, serene. </p><p>My body is still in the tent, and I’m sweating, held tight by damp sheets. <i>Like tentacles pulling me down into the lake to drown. But, no, I’m up high. Way up at the top of a tall and crumbling tower. Hogwarts. As if pushed vertically up by an earthquake the tower points further up into the sky. Higher and higher until I’m drenched in clouds. </i> No, I’m drenched in sweat, unable to open my eyes. </p><p>
  <i>“I told you,” Ginny is laughing at me from her broomstick, “you should have known.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I scream into the wind, but my voice is lost. I reach out to grab her hand, but she flies just out of reach, laughing the whole time. She doesn’t know why I’m scared. Why I can’t hardly breathe.</i>
</p><p><i>Then I’m falling and falling. </i> My body is completely stuck. <i>She’s laughing. I’m falling and she’s watching. </i></p><p>Finally, just as I hit the ground, my corporeal body jerks awake. </p><p>“Pansy?” A real-life Ginny is sitting on my bed, fully dressed and holding a steaming mug. I’m tangled up in sheets, head sunk into my pillow. “You’re okay, shhh. I know you don’t feel good, and I’ll let you rest but you were having a nightmare and I thought I could wake you up with some happy news.”</p><p>“Dear Hecate.” I squint against the morning sun. “It’s early and you’re far too chipper.”</p><p>“Like always, babe.” She sweeps down to kiss my lips, emitting sunshine and flowers with her mood. She’s recently showered after her morning workout and her hair tickles my face, still wet. I savour her soft lips, but the falling sensation from my dream didn’t end with waking, and I can still picture her flying just out of reach and covered in blood. My lips fall flat with a less than enthusiastic response and she pulls back, face covered in concern.</p><p>“You okay? Should I call a healer?”</p><p>“No, I’m fine,” I reassure her, opening my eyes briefly to catch her gaze. I’m familiar with the anxiety and desperation that’s welling up at the back of my head, threatening a panic attack. I may be taking my potions, but even magic doesn’t produce miracles. I need something more.</p><p>“Great, cause… well… I’m surprised that you didn’t hear…  about Draco and Harry? Getting married? It’s craz-”</p><p>“Of course, I heard. Of course, it’s absolutely mental.” My eyes close. I can’t stand the idiotically hopeful look on her gorgeous face. It’s far too much and I’m just trying to subtly catch my breath from my nightmare.</p><p>“Could be good though, right?”</p><p>“How exactly?”</p><p>“Yes, well, it means that you’re available, right?”</p><p>“Yes, I’ll have to find a different pureblood wizard. Not an easy task with the half blood population ever increasing…” My voice lulls with nonchalance. I’m dropping heavy hints, but she’s stubborn. In flashes I picture her covered in blood. Then glowing in a white dress. </p><p>“You don’t care about all that blood purity stuff now. I know you don’t. Pansy, this is an opportunity! You could… you could be with somebody that you actually like.”</p><p>I don’t know how to answer so I don’t. My panic is transfiguring into anger. I clearly don’t want to talk about this right now. Or at all. How can she not see that? I close my eyes into the palms of my hands and see blood. I have no idea why she would even want me like that. She deserves to be with a hero, somebody <i>good</i>. I’m falling and it’s terrifying. Stupid bloody castles.</p><p>“Oh, Pansy, you really are ill, aren’t you? I should call a healer.” Ginny is misinterpreting my consternation. I drop my hands and force my face to fall into neutrality. “You look awful.”</p><p>***</p><p>“-you look awful,” Ginny said, holding her wrist to Pansy’s sweaty forehead again. She didn’t seem to have a fever, but she was clammy and pale. Her facial expression, however, betrayed nothing but her usual morning indifference.</p><p>“You flatter me,” Pansy said hoarsely. She jerked away from Ginny’s gentle hand and looked at the mug in Ginny’s other hand. “Coffee?”</p><p>“Tea. Echinacea,” Ginny replied. “I’m not great at Pepper Up Potions, but you shouldn’t drink coffee when you’re sick.”</p><p>“Bugger that,” Pansy said, sitting up. “Where’s Vivaldi?”</p><p>“Huh?” Ginny furrowed her forehead before remembering. “Oh. Right, the alarm clock. I guess it hasn’t gone off yet?”</p><p>“You woke me up before the alarm.” Pansy’s nonchalance slipped and her glare made Ginny shrink. “I’ve told you before. I don’t get up before-”</p><p>“Of course!” Ginny interrupted, shoulders tense in alarm.  “I’m so sorry! Forgot. Usually -lately I mean- we’re in bed together so... Well, it’s just I didn’t want your tea to get co-”</p><p>“Excuses, excuses,” Pansy drawled darkly. What the hell was wrong with her? Surely an illness couldn’t cause this kind of aggression. When she stood up Ginny mirrored her, sensing a challenge. “Just take your hot leaf water and leave me alone. I need to get dressed.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t go to work if you’re sick-”</p><p>“Say ‘you shouldn’t’ to me one more time and I will hex you.”</p><p>“Wow, think you’ll ever learn how to manage that deep seeded anger of yours?” Ginny asked, trying and failing to keep a light tone of voice.</p><p>“I wouldn’t have to manage my anger if you could just learn to manage your deep seeded stupidity, Weasley.”</p><p>“Oh, you wanna play?” Ginny quirked up an eyebrow. Maybe regressing to a little schoolgirl rivalry would help Pansy feel better. Maybe this fighting was flirting.</p><p>“No Weasley, I’m done playing,” Pansy spat. “Get the fuck out of my room.”</p><p>“Yeah?” So Pansy wasn’t flirting then. Confusion and indignation amplified Ginny’s voice. “How’s this? <i>You shouldn’t</i> talk to me like that.”</p><p>Then Pansy was good to her word and drew her wand and threw a hex at Ginny. Athletic reflexes saved Ginny and the hex bounced off her quick shield charm and scorched Pansy’s wardrobe. </p><p>“Are you mental?” Ginny cried, louder still. Searching for any explanation she asked, “Did you take your potions?”</p><p>“You know I’m mental, and yes I took my potions,” Pansy snarled. Ginny hadn’t seen her mean like this in years. “Just leave it. Me.”</p><p>“Leave you? You’re not making sense,” Ginny reasoned, breath shallow. “Look, I’m not going to leave you. You’ve been trying to gain my trust for months and I do trust you now. Happy?”</p><p>“Not especially.”</p><p>“What the hell, Pansy. The other night you had me open before you, your body begging me to let you in.  So I did.”</p><p>“Your mistake.”</p><p>“My mistake? Why are you-?” Ginny grasped around for possible explanations for Pansy’s emotional crisis and cruelty. One possible explanation struck her and she tried to give Pansy an ironic smile. “Don’t pretend to be noble and say I’m too good for you. We both know you’re too narcissistic for that.”</p><p>“That’s not what I’m doing.”</p><p>“Then what are you doing?</p><p>“Well I’m <i>trying</i> to communicate properly, but you’re apparently too dense to recognize a clear boundary. Get out.”</p><p>“Fine.” Ginny tightened her hands to fists and had no choice but to storm out of Pansy’s room. She heard Vivaldi’s <i>Spring</i> loud and tinny from Pansy’s room, followed by a loud explosion and silence. </p><p>Ginny, not knowing what else to do, sat at the table and drank the orange juice she had made for her ill precarious-lover-roommate. The juice wasn't very good, made of conjured oranges. She felt tears push forward in her eyes, but blinked them away feeling quite the fool. The youngest sister among six brothers didn’t cry often but Ginny knew why this moment was just too much. She felt her traitorous heart cracking around the edges. </p><p>Pansy emerged from her room meticulously put together and crossed to pull a fresh fruit bowl from the fridge. She daintily picked at pineapple, avoiding Ginny’s gaze even as they sat across from each other at the small table. Ginny stared at the daisies and goldenrod she had placed in a vase on the table the day before, and the temptation to cast <i>incendio</i> tickled her tightly gripped wand. Pansy was so calm, a different creature than the monster she’d been in the bedroom. She spoke in a strictly office voice.</p><p>“What time do you plan on going to the stadium today? I have an appointment-”</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” Ginny spat out once more, desperate and as uncontrolled as a wildfire. “We’ve been having fun. I have, at least.”</p><p>“Sure, gingersnap.” Pansy shrugged, eyes on a kiwi. “It’s been fun, but the game had to end eventually. You knew this would happen. Let’s be honest, I’ve <i>had</i> you. What else-”</p><p>Ginny’s angry magic exploded the vase on the table and the daisies and goldenrod scattered across their breakfasts. Shattered glass and water flew everywhere. They both stood up to avoid the water and shards. While Ginny trembled, Pansy was solid as cold stone. </p><p>“You... and here I’ve been starting to fall in love with you…” Ginny shook her head, looking up at the fabric ceiling. </p><p>Ginny’s eyes hoped they wouldn’t spill tears and her hands ached to pull out her hair. She shut her eyes tight, and twisted her hair in her fingers. Ginny’s heart was being pulled, as if by a rushing river. Her submerged robes were weighing her down and her only option was to strip and swim with the current, moving forward with naked honesty.</p><p>I’ve been starting to fall in love with you…” Ginny had said.</p><p>“Don’t be so dramatic,” Pansy said dismissively. “You don’t even know me.”</p><p>“No, Pansy Parkinson, I’ve always known exactly who I’m dealing with and I know exactly what you are. And yeah. I somehow, yeah, fuck. I love you.”</p><p>The words hung precariously in the air as they looked at each other. Ginny hadn’t meant to say it but the words were out and she couldn’t swallow them back down. If she weren’t feeling as vulnerable as a featherless baby bird Ginny might have enjoyed rendering Pansy speechless. She wondered if Pansy was also remembering Ginny’s first day at<i> the Prophet</i> and their first fight those months ago. <i>‘I know you’</i> had meant something so different then.</p><p>“Pansy, you healed me in a way I’ve never… everything is different now. Come on, I’m not saying you have to abandon your family or come out yet.” Ginny tried yet again to reason with the other witch. “Your family is important, of course and coming out is personal and completely your choice. Those decisions can wait…  but right now? I just want to try us out. Please don’t be scared, I won’t hurt you.”</p><p>“Goodness that was close,” Pansy laughed mirthlessly, “I almost gave a damn.”</p><p>“Don’t do that!” Ginny groaned, shaking with every painful feeling. “Please. You’re lying. You care about me, I know you do. You’re just being a pathetic coward.”</p><p>“I’m the pathetic one? How many times this morning have I told you to shove off and you’re still panting after me. Talk about low hanging fruit.”</p><p>Ginny’s wand was raised again and Pansy mirrored her. Magic swirled in Ginny’s gut and her tight chest, ready to knock Parkinson out. Heartsick. If only she could eat her truthful words and with digestion make them false. Why did she have these soft feelings for such a hard person? </p><p>They both inhaled to utter a curse when the door to their tent opened and in came Harry Potter, panting. He looked back and forth between their raised wands, eyes wide behind round spectacles; he didn’t comment. Everything froze before Harry told them:</p><p>“The seekers are inexplicably recovered. They’re at full capabilities and record-breaking Antinanco Bravo and Toni Thompson are about to take off in 10 minutes! The game could end before noon.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, I promised some angst. Lots of drama drama. Draco&amp;Pansy friendship is actually my favorite though, so that was one little ray of hope in there. But we're getting to that place in the story, aren't we? Let me know what you think, or if you exist. Thanks!</p><p>(I also encourage everyone to listen to "Electric" by Lauren Sanderson and everything by King Princess.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. "Let's talk about falling."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey readers, I hope all y'all US Americans enjoyed Thanksgiving/Indigenous Peoples Day. Not gonna lie, my family is somewhat like Pansy's and the holidays were rough for me. But hey, we won Georgia twice and that feels good, right? To non-US Americans I hope you had a good November and I apologize for the wait on this chapter.</p>
<p>This was a mammoth of a chapter! I hope you love it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“-everyone’s here. Gaby sent me because she didn’t want to miss anything, she’s a big Bravo fan I think,” Potter says as we hurry out of the tent. I’d like to be thrilled or interested in the stupid Quidditch World Cup but I’m in the kind of mood where I’d almost hand Potter over to the Dark Lord all over again. Fiance stealing bastard. Why should <i>he</i> get to be happy?</p>
<p>The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known is in love with me and it makes me feel sick. I just gave Ginny every possible opportunity to leave me, to hate me, but she’s so stubborn. In my oh so familiar mode of self destruction I used every ounce of my strength to push her away. She is so herself and so she valiantly fought my defenses to try to pull me closer. If Potter hadn’t interrupted I don’t know what would have happened.</p>
<p>When we stop at the media-tent Harry ushers Ginny away to have a word with me. Ginny leaves eagerly with stiff shoulders. </p>
<p>“You hurt her and I’ll hurt you worse,” He warns. My stomach sinks in shame and I might pass out.</p>
<p>I make sure to hide that I’m intimidated by him, but he is the bloody Chosen One for Hecate’s sake and I’m not fearless. He is not, however, as terrifying as Ginny. She is so terrifying, in fact, that all I want to do right now is curl up in her arms.</p>
<p>“She really doesn’t need you to protect her,” I say. </p>
<p>Potter seems to decide I’m either correct or unimportant, because he walks away and up the wooden stairs to the Top Box. I look around to see that the media tent is bustling with chattering reporters and scribbling quills. Clearly Potter was speaking in hyperbole when he said they’d be in the air in ten minutes. By the looks of things, the press wouldn’t let the seekers take flight until the Wizarding World had time to re-enter the stands with all cameras flashing. I would guess we still have at least 45 minutes before the seekers rejoin the game.</p>
<p>Shera Patil is here, out of the office for a day. When she looks across the room at me she nods, eyes full of respect. Owls have been coming from her regularly, applauding my work; her trust in my capabilities allows me free reign in moments like this. I see Ginny approaching her and direct my eyes elsewhere. I can’t afford to let this pesky little mental breakdown stop me from being professional. </p>
<p>I broke my own heart, and now I have to brace it and deal. I tuck my emotional crisis away to deal with tonight when I can be alone. At the end of the day everyone will be celebrating the win or mourning the loss of the World Cup while I will simultaneously celebrate and mourn the end of this long game. I’m sure Ginny will go to a party, so I will also be able to celebrate and mourn my solitude in the tent. Perhaps I’ll pop myself a bottle of champagne.</p>
<p>Right now, I need to work on memorizing the faces in the tent and a familiar one approaches me. It’s Dibrut, a Chilean historian who frequently travels with Marta Huerta in an advisory role. I interviewed the young, fashionable, and clever Goblin earlier in the summer and she earned my approval. So even though I’d like to scorch everyone to dust with my eyes when she smiles at me I don’t glare back.</p>
<p>“Well, you look awful don’t you?” she says in Spanish by way of cordial greeting. </p>
<p>“So I’ve been told,” I roll my eyes, remembering how Ginny woke me up. I continue our conversation in Spanish to match her . “What are you doing down here in the media-tent? Shouldn’t you be up in the Top Box, anxiously waiting for the seekers to kick off?”</p>
<p>“Oh we both know I’m not here for the Quidditch,” she chuckles wryly. “I’m here to talk to you, actually. Come, let’s walk up to the Top Box together.”</p>
<p>I’m flattered by this and very curious, so I follow her out of the tent.</p>
<p>“Well, who is she?” Dibrut asks me as we reach the wooden stairs going up into the stands. Fans are loud around us, and we can hear the crowds chanting above us.</p>
<p>“Who is who?”</p>
<p>“This girl that broke your heart, of course,” Dibrut laughs. I nearly fall up the stairs and she catches me. </p>
<p>“I don’t know-” I start, but then I see Ginny and Harry already hurrying up the stairs above us. She looks so sad. </p>
<p>“The little ginger up there?” Dibrut suggests.</p>
<p>“She’s not little,” I say instinctively, before wanting to hit myself. I’m caught. Inhale, exhale. “How on earth did you know-”</p>
<p>“True, she’s got plenty of height on me,” Dibrut concedes, still grinning. “And how did I know? Just look at yourself! I’ve seen that look before. Something’s wrong and it’s either sex or money and I’m sure you’ve got enough gold to fill half of Gringotts. Love the shoes by the way.”</p>
<p>“Thank you -I mean… but how on Salazar’s green earth did you know it was a <i>she</i>?” I whisper the last word even though it is far too loud and nobody cares enough to eavesdrop about my forlorn and sapphic lovelife. </p>
<p>“I wasn’t born yesterday, <i>Weon</i>,” Dibrut says affectionately, climbing up with strong legs. Then she winks. “Love your hat.”</p>
<p>I resist the strong urge to lift my hand up to check my petite witch’s hat. I didn’t think it was a particularly gay looking hat… and my heels that she just complimented are the opposite of stereotypical. How does she see right through me? Then again, I take another, more discerning look at Dibrut and determine that she’s probably into she-Goblins. I mean, honestly, the hue of amethyst pinned to her front. So gay. (No,  my assessment has absolutely nothing to do with her brooch and more to do with that inexplicable gut feeling.)</p>
<p>In a brief, flashing moment, my self destruct mode is interrupted. Dibrut could see right through me. For this moment I am back in New York or Berlin, out and proud and recognized as a member of a Queer community. I gave that up so easily when I moved back to my pureblood duty in England, but she makes me remember the night clubs, the book groups, the film festivals… a whole culture. That seems like a world away, but Dibrut and her amethyst, are right here next to me. </p>
<p>“Love your brooch,” I counter. “And between you and me, I’m the one that broke her heart.”</p>
<p>“Like hell,” Dibrut scoffs through the hard breathing that accompanies climbing the stairs to the Top Box. She lowers her voice and lets the noise of the people around us cover our conversation so that only I can hear. “But I didn’t actually come to talk about your lady drama. There are very few wizards I trust, and even fewer Brits. But you’re better at asking questions and actually listening than any other journalists here.”</p>
<p>“Of course I am.”</p>
<p>“Right, well Ministraria Huerta has almost died more than once on British soil, and today may very well be her last day in England,” Dibrut says, close to my ear. “If somebody intends to kill her before she’s back under full security of the Chilean government, today would be their last chance. I know your Minister Shacklebolt has Aurors set up to guard her, but please don’t blame me if I’m skeptical of their abilities.”</p>
<p>I smirk my understanding and she continues.</p>
<p>“If something were to go down, it might be more useful to have a journalist ready with a quill than some Ministry goon ready with a wand. I need you to stay right by our Ministraria, there might be a story there. I hope there won’t be anything to write home about, but as you know from my work as a historian-”</p>
<p>“You’ve seen this kind of thing happen before,” I finish for her.</p>
<p>“Precisely. Make sure you don’t miss a thing.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t planning on it,” I reply, bemused. “That’s my job. I’m not here to see who catches a little shiny ball either.” </p>
<p>“No, I imagine you have very little interest in balls in general, actually,” says Dibrut with a wry smile, making me roll my eyes. “I will see you in the Top Box. Let’s both pray the most interesting thing is Quidditch.”</p>
<p>With that ominous little warning, the Goblin bolted up the steps to the Top Box, leaving me behind. I was already feeling awful from the fight with Ginny, and now I’m supposed to be on the lookout for an assassination attempt? I’m just so not ready for today. </p>
<p>The crowd around me is loud and I’m immensely fatigued, so when I get to one of the larger landings I stop and lean against the railing. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>When Ginny reached the Top Box she took a moment to scan the crowds below her as they ascended up the exposed wooden staircase. There was no reason she needed to know where Pansy was, except for that of course she wanted to know where Pansy was. She and Harry had made it up to the Top Box before most of the reporters and Ron was waiting there for them. </p>
<p>“Where did Hermione go?” Ginny heard Harry ask her brother. </p>
<p>“She ran back down to get a book. She doesn’t really get Quidditch, you know,” Ron groaned. “I’m just glad we’re in the Top Box with you lot today. Best way to watch a game end.”</p>
<p>Then Ginny saw her black bob and small hat, small and leaning against the railing of the stair landing. Pansy never took breaks on the way up the steps though, Ginny knew, because stopping meant having to cope with the realization of height. Thinking of Pansy feeling afraid of heights brought back memories of a swaying douglas fir and a makeshift tree fort. Their first kiss.</p>
<p>Even at a distance, Ginny could see how tightly Pansy’s hands were clasping the railing. Searching for an excuse to go comfort her, Ginny looked up at the boys.</p>
<p>“Should I go find her?” she asked.</p>
<p>“What?” Ron asked bemused. “No, Hermione can take care of herself. You’re working for Merlin’s sake.”</p>
<p>“And Pansy can take care of herself too,” Harry added knowingly. “You don’t owe her anything, Gin.”</p>
<p>“Why would Ginny owe-” Ron started, more confused than ever.</p>
<p>“Nevermind that, Ron,” Ginny said. She had just spotted a familiar figure stop to comfort Pansy. She would be okay.  “Harry’s right, I am working. Let’s go get seats near the front.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>People keep walking past me, but I have enough room that they aren’t bumping against me. Instead of looking out at the forest hundreds of feet below, I close my eyes and try to catch my breath. When I feel a soft hand on my shoulder, I jerk and grip the railing tighter.</p>
<p>“Pansy?” It’s Hermione. I ought to open my eyes, but the people, the stress, and the height force them to say closed.. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” I say, lacking the energy to be clever. </p>
<p>“You sure?” she presses. “I just saw Ginny and she’s… well. She didn’t say anything but she’s clearly upset. Then I saw you here, out of breath, with your eyes closed.”</p>
<p>“You were always so clever,” I say, failing to sound sarcastic. “I’ve just recently noticed how obscenely high up the Top Box is.”</p>
<p>“That’s why your eyes are closed?” she sounds skeptical but I just nod. Gently, she puts her hands on my shoulders to turn me around and away from the railing. “There, you can open your eyes. Just don’t look over the ledge for now.”</p>
<p>I open my eyes, feeling stupid. She is smiling at me and I ache thinking that I was ever unkind to her. Weakly, I say, “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome,” says Hermione. “I’m afraid of heights too.”</p>
<p>“I thought you Gryffindors weren’t supposed to be afraid of anything.”</p>
<p>“Hardly!” she says, and I prepare myself for a lesson. “On the contrary, it’s impossible to be both brave and fearless.”</p>
<p>“I see.” I don’t really though.</p>
<p>“Courage is doing the right thing even when you’re scared,” she says, and I wonder if she’s quoting a book. If it was a direct quote she would cite her sources, surely. “The trick is to know that just because you’re afraid, that doesn’t mean you’re in danger.”</p>
<p>I nod, because it sounds obvious when she says it. </p>
<p>“And hiding from something oftentimes makes it scarier too,” she tells me. “Let’s talk about falling. That’s what you’re afraid of, right?”</p>
<p>I shrug and cross my arms but she just smiles knowingly. We’re ignoring the people rushing past us and I know that I have to get up to the Top Box soon but I’m not quite ready yet.</p>
<p>“Okay, and what would happen if you fell?” Hermione asks mildly. </p>
<p>“We’re about three stories up, I’d die.” I really don’t have time for this, but I’m still dizzy and exhausted, so I may as well humor Hermione. </p>
<p>“You wouldn’t cast a featherlight charm? And if you were, for some reason, unable, do you really think that out of the hundreds of people who would see you fall none of us would save you?”</p>
<p>“You think you’re so clever,” I mock, but we both know she really is so clever. </p>
<p>“Try looking over the edge.”</p>
<p>When I dare a glance over the edge of the railing and down several stories, I’m surprised to find myself slightly less afraid. She’s right, I’m not in any real danger. </p>
<p>“I’m not daft. I didn’t actually think I was going to fall.” I say, feeling petulant. “You can’t always rationalize your way around fear, Miss Brain.”</p>
<p>“Not always,” she agrees, nodding. “But sometimes it can help. You’re looking over the edge now.”</p>
<p>I take my eyes away from what is actually a pretty nice view of the campground to give Hermione a look. </p>
<p>“Ginny doesn’t owe you forgiveness, you know,” Hermione continues as if she isn’t changing the topic. Maybe she’s not. “But you must never stop trying to earn it. You’ve been doing a good job, don’t hide just because you’re scared.”</p>
<p>“A good job?” I doubt it.</p>
<p>“Your actions speak for you, Pansy,” Hermione says, apparently not needing me to answer her. She linked her arm through mine and together we walked up the steps. “That’s why I like you. You’re always trying to learn.”</p>
<p>“Oh dear,” I roll my eyes. “This whole time, you just sound like a shrink.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Hermione giggled, “I’m flattered. I happen to hold deep respect for my therapist. Maybe you should get one. You could get over this fear you have of falling in love with Ginny.”</p>
<p>My mouth goes dry. My new, bookish friend is right: my idiot heart is frozen with fear. This is why I was so reluctant to get one of these pulsing muscles anyways. Imagine just throwing my poor little heart over the edge of this stair landing railing. It would be very messy shattering, what with all the exploding arteries.</p>
<p>“Just because you’re afraid, Pansy, doesn’t mean you’re in danger.” </p>
<p>Then we’re up in the crowded Top Box, wealthy and influential witches, wizards, Goblins, and other miscellaneous magical types standing shoulder to shoulder. They seemed to all be breathing the same frenzied and buzzing breaths. Hermione and I share one last glance acknowledging that any conversation would be lost in the resounding voices and chants roaring around us.</p>
<p>“BRAVO AND THOMPSON, ARGUABLY THE BEST SEEKERS IN THE WORLD, HAVE RETURNED TO THE PITCH. THEY ARE SHAKING HANDS, BOTH DETERMINED TO ACHIEVE WHAT NONE OF THEIR RESERVE SEEKERS HAVE MANAGED,” boomed the commentators voice. Ginny’s bright red hair shines through the crowd and I can tell she is up in the front with Potter and Ron. Hermione goes to join them while I walk to sit near the Ministers. Dibrut’s warning flashes back to the front of my mind and I scold myself for getting distracted. Marta Huerta seems alright for now though.</p>
<p>“BRAVO LOOKS UP TO THE TOP BOX TO SALUTE HIS MINISTER, WHO HAS RETURNED FROM CHILE TO WITNESS HISTORY. THAT’S RIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN -THIS HAS BEEN A GAME LIKE NO OTHER,” continues the little wizard who seems about ready to pass out from excitement and fatigue. With a loud whistle, Bravo and Thompson kick off into the air. But I’m hardly looking, too busy observing the Ministers out of the corner of my eye.</p>
<p>“THOMPSON SEEMS TO HAVE HEALED UP WELL ENOUGH FROM MULTIPLE CONCUSSIONS AND BRAVO’S SHOULDERS SEEM TO HAVE SUCCESSFULLY RETURNED TO THEIR SOCKETS! BOTH SEEKERS ARE ON THEIR GAME TODAY.”</p>
<p>While cheap beer and hot dogs fill the plebian stands below us, uniformed caterers gracefully float trays of champaign through the Top Box. Everybody is ready to celebrate. These fans seem ready to give up their weekends away at the World Cup in favor of closure. It’s still a close game after all this time, and both sides have hope for victory. </p>
<p>“SPINNET WITH THE QUAFFLE, DODGES A BLUDGER FROM SULPUVEDA. SPINNET TO CASIO AND BACK TO SPINNET. SHE SHOOTS… SHE SCOOOOORES!” Dibrut is daintily enjoying canapes with a couple other Goblins that I vaguely remember the names of. I’m not even pretending to watch the game, my eyes are entirely on the spectators.</p>
<p>“BRAVO DIVES, PULLING UP AT THE LAST MINUTE AND CAUSING THOMPSON TO BARELY AVOID A FIFTH CONCUSSION!”</p>
<p>I wave off the caterer that sweeps past me offering refreshments. But then, on second thought, I grab a vodka shot off the tray (transforming from champagne flute to shot glass as I wish it) and toss it back. The caterer and I don’t look at eachother. I do, however, look at a different, vaguely familiar caterer that is presenting Shacklebolt and Huerta with ornate silver goblets. The two Ministers are amicable together, clearly having developed a friendship through this exhausting ordeal. </p>
<p>“SPINNET SCORES!”</p>
<p>“To healthy competition and a new friendship!” says Shacklebolt in his deep voice. They’re raising the goblets to cheers.</p>
<p>“To Chile and to England!” Huerta chimes in.</p>
<p>“FOUL!” the crowds boo and groan.</p>
<p>The hair on my arms starts to rise despite the heat. At first I’m not sure why I’m holding my breath, but then I see the letter ‘P’ engraved on one of the silver goblets. Time seems to simultaneously slow down and speed up. </p>
<p>I stand abruptly and shout, “Marta, do not drink!” </p>
<p>Nobody hears me. Thousands of fan’s voices pile over mine and the commentator's voice booms even louder. I could be screaming about that inconsequential Quidditch foul for all anybody can tell. </p>
<p>“HAS THOMPSON SEEN THE SNITCH!?”</p>
<p>Her lips touch the rim of the glass, but there’s no way for me to reach her on time so I lift my wand.</p>
<p>Then -before I can think of the spell- hands push the goblet to the ground, away from Huerta’s lips. Away from her shocked face, spilling red liquid on her robes and splashing it across the floor of the Top Box. Small, stout, and miraculously urgent hands. Hands attached to a young and fashionable Goblin: Dibrut.</p>
<p>“-AND THE SNITCH GETS AWAY AGAIN! BENNET WITH THE QUAFFLE, SHE SHOOTS! AND SHE MISSES. FILISE IN POSSESSION.”</p>
<p>Most of the people in the Top Box are too transfixed by flying people on brooms chasing balls to notice the disaster that Dibrut just averted. I lower my wand and hurry to stand closer with my quill raised. I feel Ginny’s eyes burn into me, and I look up to see that she is distracted from the game. I can tell from her questioning eyes that she saw me lifting my wand. She must have been watching me. Harry Potter grabs her hand and the two of them walk towards us, both looking at the spilled goblet and Dibrut’s glare. Meanwhile, an Auror I don’t recognize detains the caterer who was trying to walk away. </p>
<p>Somebody casts a silencing charm and the noise of the quidditch game falls away, though I can still see the crowd waving their fists and stretching open their jaws in a soundless roar. So riveted by the game, the fans and most of the press haven’t noticed the suspected assassination attempt. I guess the charm makes it so that the Top Box is quiet to a select few, while the rest of the attendees still hear the loud game, thus providing privacy for those of us attending to the crisis. I can tell from their focused expressions that Ginny, Potter, several Aurors, the Ministers, and of course Dibrut also cannot hear the noise of the crowds.</p>
<p>I’m grateful that the caster of the charm decided I was worth including in the privacy of silence; somebody has to be writing this all down. Perhaps the caster of the charm saw me lift my wand too? My mind races as I decide if I want to share what I know. Neville bends down to prod the puddle of red liquid that is spilled beneath the silver goblet.</p>
<p>“It’s just wine,” Head Auror determines, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion. “No poison at all.”</p>
<p>I’m tempted to point out that Longbottom couldn’t recognize poison from perfume if his toad’s life depended on it. I did share a potions classroom with the poor sod for eight years after all. I hold my tongue in favor of collecting my thoughts. Now is not the time for mocking Longbottom.</p>
<p>“What is the meaning of this, Dibrut?” Minister Huerta says in English, clearly bewildered but trusting her advisor. Her face betrays no panic.</p>
<p>“The Auror is correct,” Dibrut replies. “That is just wine, but that goblet is cursed.”</p>
<p>“How did you know?” Shacklebolt asks her, levitating the goblet up into the air and waving his wand around it to detect curses. His skillful eyes are suspicious but don’t show any recognition.</p>
<p>“It’s Goblin made, but the curse on it was cast by a wizard. Like a tarnish, I saw it straight away,” Dibrut says, her condescension toward Kingsley clear. </p>
<p>“Pansy saw it too,” Potter remarks looking at me. “You recognized a curse?”</p>
<p>I’m now aware who cast the silencing charm that included me. Ever meddling Potter wants to give me an opportunity to play hero and it doesn’t sit well with me. Their sharp gazes are like pin pricks on my skin.</p>
<p>“I’ve seen the goblet before,” I answer with a sigh.“Several times, actually.”</p>
<p>I pause to let the weight of this life changing decision settle onto my shoulders. It’s too late to be quiet now and I know talking is the right choice, but I can taste a hint of regret. On one hand, the assissination attempt was shameless, but on the other hand… </p>
<p>“There’s a ‘P’ on it,” Kingsley observed aloud, comprehension lighting his features. “‘P’ for -”</p>
<p>“Parkinson,” I interrupt. I need to beat him to it. “Yes. It belongs to” <i> my family </i> “the catering company.”</p>
<p>“And what say you?” The Auror who caught the caterer pushes him forward and allows him to speak.</p>
<p>“Miss Parkinson is honest. It was, it was,” the young man nodded shakily. He has a wet mark down the front of his uniform and sweat on his brow. Looks to be about 18 years old. “Iago Parkinson, I mean. My boss. But I didn’t know, did I?”</p>
<p>Longbottom leaves immediately and I have no doubt about who he is getting. The caterer said I was ‘honest’; what a strange descriptive word to hear about myself.</p>
<p>“He just gave me the goblets and was specific that I give <i>that<i> one to the Chilean Minister. But he didn’t tell me nothing about why and I wasn’t gonna ask, was I? Right scary, that man. I swear I didn’t know about no poison or-”</i></i></p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Not poison,” I interrupt his blubbering.“The Goblet of Malum casts a deadly curse on anybody who drinks from it. Minister Huerta’s prefrontal cortex would have melted out of her eye sockets while she choked on her cerebellum. Before her brain stem erupted, she would have experienced the auditory hallucination of muggleborns screaming in pain. Not quite clear on how the sound differs from that of tortured purebloods… but either way, the effect is supposedly very unpleasant.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>I continue: “Minister Shacklebolt’s goblet is the uncursed one. See the little skull there on the stem? Skulls for safety.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Of course,” Ginny chimes in. “Because everyone knows that skulls are always the symbol for safety.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Ya basta,” Minister Huerta chides my favorite ginger in Spanish. I doubt that Ginny already has her translation charms up, but am certain that she gets the point. Huerta turns to her savour. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Dibrut, I cannot thank you enough. I award you the Medal of Brujos, Gold. We’ll have a ceremony as soon as we get home. Now. Who are these Parkinsons? I assume your Auror went to hunt them down?”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yes Minister, they’re a well known wizarding family here.” I listen while Kingsley describes my family as radical wizard supremacists. Dark Arts enthusiasts. Evil people who he’s never had enough evidence against in order to incarcerate. I wonder if he includes me as part of that family. I wonder if I want to include myself as part of that family too. “I assure you our legal system will bring them justice for this atrocious attempt on your life and I apologize on behalf of England.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He’s acting like I’m not here, but I don’t mind. I take this time to sit with what is about to happen. What my place in this is. I have already betrayed my family and as time passes I don’t actually feel too guilty about it. Then I see Neville coming toward us through the crowd, his hand gripping the arm of a tall man whose prideful face is heavy with contempt: my father. The usual anxious discomfort I feel upon his presence has been replaced by something more similar to disgust: embarrassment.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Iago Parkinson,” The Auror presents. Father does not look as though he has struggled against Auror, but I can tell he is deeply disappointed. He doesn’t look at me, which really isn’t so unusual. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i> “I caught him trying to fly away,” Neville tell Shacklebolt. “Apparently he didn’t think that the World Cup might have some security wards.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>I can practically hear Neville’s unspoken ‘<i>idiot</i>.’ I agree. Not only are my father’s political views enraging, his morals appalling, but also his cunning is seriously lacking. How many assassination attempts has Huerta averted now? Three? Four? My father was certainly behind the attempt earlier this summer. Hecate knows that South American politics have been more effectively controlled by foreign powers for decades, but it’s clear that pureblood radical supremacist groups lack the influence they once had. I wonder how many times they have failed to take her life and undo her liberal political progress. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>I’m wearing the emerald necklace he gave me months ago and I wish there was a subtle way for me to take it off.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I see,” says Shacklebolt. “Iago Parkinson. I’ve heard your name before of course. Your daughter says that this cursed Goblet of Malum belongs to you and your employee insists that you forced him to present the cursed Goblet to Minister Marta Huerta just ten minutes ago. What do you have to say for yourself?”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I look forward to speaking to my legal representative before facing a fair trial,” Iago growls. Even at the direct mention of me he chooses not to look my way. My mortification mounts closer and closer to anger.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Apparently the only person that remembers that I’m here is Ginny, whose burning gaze I’m stubbornly avoiding. I don’t want to see what she’s thinking.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“It’s obvious what has happened!” Ginny exclaims. “You’ve been waiting for the Minister to come back to the World Cup for months so that you could kill her!”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Oh dear.” Iago looks down at Ginny, his lips wrinkled in condescension. “You must be Ginny Weasley. Hm, better to keep your pretty little head focused on Quidditch because you are woefully, albeit unsurprisingly, mistaken.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>I know the expression on his face and my breath hitches in anticipation. She was baiting him on purpose. Atta girl. Ginny already knows what’s going on, but he loves explaining things to women regardless of their knowledge. Looks like he’ll be mansplaining his crimes for all to hear. Villain-splaining.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Because <i>actually</i> I have been in control this whole time. Did it ever occur to any of you that perhaps this muggle-loving Goblin-whipped witch is back in England specifically because I have engineered it to be so?”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“But Father,” I press, knowing exactly how to keep him talking -not that it’s hard, bloody narcissist. “Nobody could possibly predict that the seekers would miraculously recover from their brain fog today! That is why the Chilean Ministry is here, is it not?”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Daughter,” he says, his eyes finally falling on me. We make eye contact and my humiliation and anger meet a new feeling. From this moment on I will be free of my childish desire for his approval, for I do not approve of him. Now I can sit with the identity of being a ‘bad daughter’ more easily than my goal of being a ‘good daughter.’ Such a goal is as unattainable as it is indistinct. Now, it’s also undesirable, because now I see that he is not only a bad father, but he is a bad man.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“You are correct that Huerta returned to watch the Cup for the seeker’s reappearance.” Iago says <i>‘Huerta’</i> like it’s a curse. “But not that nobody could have predicted it.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He might slow down or Kingsley or Neville might jump in, so I interrupt him: a surefire way to make sure he keeps talking.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“But!”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Do not interrupt me,” Iago spits out, just like I knew he would. “I did not raise my daughter to be so insolent. It has been our very own family catering company that has been feeding the teams this summer, has it not? Of course it was. As was my ingenious plan.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>We wait, transfixed. Is he about to just completely confess to everything? Are the assassinations connected to the seeker’s unexplained ailments?</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“By keeping the seekers indisposed, I have been able to manipulate when Huerta might be in Britain. This morning we lifted the curses on the seekers to lure her back to England-”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“And away from my country!” Minister Huerta cries, nostrils flaring. “<i>You</i>  have been tampering with my Indigineous reform laws! I was worried the anti-Goblin agenda would progress this coming Tuesday but you were already planning my death today. Our Wizengamot would have pushed it, were I no longer there ready with my veto!”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Well actually,” Iago smirks, “I was planning your death today so you never would’ve been able to push forward with those ‘civil rights’ you proclaim to care so much about.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“That’s literally exactly what she just said,” I deadpan. Dear Hecate please distance me as far as possible from this disgrace of a wizard. Dibrut winks at me and Ginny keeps trying to make eye contact. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Do you realize how your toxic agenda will effect the rest of the world? The shambles of an English government have allowed for globalization to overthrow our nation’s pride. No doubt you would have your radical ideals destroy traditional pureblood values.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“No double at all,” Dibrut agreed.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“This is a disgrace to magic people everywhere!” Iago shouts as ropes bind his arms to his sides and an Auror comes to pat him down.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“No,” I say, just loud enough for everyone to hear me. “You are a disgrace, Mr Parkinson.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Without my consent my eyes shoot to Ginny, but I tear them away before I can register her expression. I’m starting to feel okay as the lingering taste of regret is overwhelmed by the fresh taste of freedom. Still, my fragile heart couldn’t bear to see any disgust in Ginny’s eyes.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I can’t imagine anyone will want to make good on their sports bets with him now that it’s come out that you’ve been manipulating the game’s outcome,” says the Auror as he finishes his pat down.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“That will be the worst of his concerns,” Shacklebolt says in his deep voice. “Take him away. We’ve gotten as much of a confession as we could ever need.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>I watch in silence as Neville and the other Aurors escort my sneering father out of the Top Box and down the tall stairs. Somehow, most of the people around us are still focused on quidditch and when Potter’s charm lifts their voices roar with enthusiasm. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“SMITH SENDS A BLUDGER AT CORTEZ! HE MISSES BUT SPINNET TAKES THE QUAFFLE.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>I’m in a daze and briefly look at Ginny again before shaking my head for clarity and emotional de-escalation. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>My mother appears beside me, her silvering hair impeccable but flames of outrage burning up her complexion. Shacklebolt, Huerta, and Potter are in hushed conversation and while I ought to be trying to catch the story, my mother demands my full attention. If there was ever a time to slack on the job it would be now. It seems that Gaby finally noticed Iago’s arrest and is now on top of recording the story. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Besides, I can feel people staring at me -I’m getting the full scoop on the story that is my family’s disgrace at the very least. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Pansy,” my mother’s shaking voice is loud in my ear so I can hear it above the crowd. She grabs my hand and squeezes my knuckles so that they hurt. “What have you done? Are you imperioused?”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>She lifts her wand and I feel her probe at my mind, but of course she finds nothing. I made the choice to accuse my father and there’s no way around it. I don’t want to avoid it -everything inside me is stirring up and I don’t want the dust to resettle. I want it to float up into the sky, high above her.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m in my right mind,” I tell her. “Can’t be sure of the same for you and your husband though. He was attempting assination in front of our prime minister in a crowd of onlookers with a laughable ability for secrecy. What was I to do?”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“You were here to protect him, you foolish girl. To be loyal to our family!”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“And how was I supposed to go along with a plan I wasn’t in on?” I ask rhetorically. “A plan that was not only idiotic but unapologetically immoral.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Immoral?” My mother is exasperated. I don’t think she’s seen me this blatantly insubordinate to her since I was a toddler. “Of what value is morality when you have loyalty? Who has been filling your mind with such nonsense? Where is your pride? I <i> told</i> your father we shouldn’t have let you leave England so long-”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“One of his best parenting choices actually,” I interrupt. The revved up blood rushing in my ears almost drowns out the sounds of quidditch. “No wonder you didn’t agree with it.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Don’t speak to me like that, young lady.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m not so young, mother,” I tell her. “Stop trying to control me because you were never able to control your own life.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“No.” Her hands squeeze mine harder and I try to pull away, ignoring the pain. She only tries to hold me tighter and it only reinforces my desire to break free.“You will testify to your father’s innocence and fix this horrible mess you’ve made or there will be very serious consequences.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“He <i>deserves</i> to go to Azkaban.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Oh? And what do you deserve?” Goneril’s pride made her look smaller, even as she puffs up in anger. “Perhaps we ought to take away that gorgeous flat we’ve provided for you. All the beautiful gifts your father has given you. The future with Draco that we have set up for you.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>When I hear Draco’s name I remember the word he used last night:“dismantle.” I remember that I don’t <i>deserve</i> a fancy house or fine gemstone necklaces or a wealthy, powerful husband. I did nothing to <i>earn</i> that.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yes, take it away,” I hear myself agreeing. As the words flow from me I know they are full of truth. I let the unsettled dust inside me float up and out. “I deserve better. I deserve something real. Something I’ve earned.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Goneril stares at me, apparently lost for words. More and more people are watching us and I enjoy the way my spine lifts up to demonstrate my conviction. I’ve always had good posture, but now I am even taller than any high heels can make me. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“You are clearly not thinking properly right now,” Goneril says. “I will let you calm down from this temper tantrum and speak to you when you are more reasonable.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m being perfectly reasonable,” I say with a smile. She shakes her head, scoffing, and starts to walk away from me. As she goes I remember something and, having let go of being a Parkinson, I am free to speak.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“By the way,” I speak up loud over the noise of the crowd. “Narcissa should be contacting you soon about Draco’s withdrawal from our engagement.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>This makes her spin around to face me, perplexed. She opens her mouth but I beat her to speech.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“He’s in love with Harry Potter.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Pardon?” Her anger mingles with confusion. “Stop this nonsense.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Draco is gay,” I say. “And so am I.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>I’m surprised by how easily the words left my mouth. I feel like the whole stadium has fallen into shocked silence, though of course it hasn’t. A gray haired wizard to my left me keeps shouting<i> “Foul! Foul!”</i> up at the players in the sky. Goneril spends a split second in denial, but I make sure everything about me communicates honesty. This is completely foreign to her and I can tell she’s scared as she draws her wand and points it at me.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Then a certain tall, red haired, sports journalist steps in front of me with a wand raised up to match her’s. If I felt light before it’s nothing to how I feel now. Weightless.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“If I were you,” Ginny growled. “I’d walk away.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Goneril looks like she might put up a fight, but then eyes up Kingsley Shacklebolt and the crowd of onlookers, including the ones with raised quills and cameras. She looks over Ginny’s shoulders to address me.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“This isn’t over-”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“No,” Ginny said even more forcefully. “I think it is.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Ginny is right; it is done. I nod to confirm Ginny’s statement and Goneril’s expression betrays a hint of true sorrow so that I feel that familiar nudge of inescapable guilt. But then the moment ends and she swishes her robe to leave, almost running down the steps.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Ginny turns back to face me, eyes blazing.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>***</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Ginny’s heart fluttered faster than a snitch as she watched Pansy come out to Goneril Parkinson. Ginny’s ears had strained above the noise of quidditch fanatics and the commentator's Sonorous Charm. She heard every word of the conversation: Pansy just disowned her family, cut off her inheritance, and then announced to the world that she was gay. Ginny needed to… she…</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“We need to talk. Come with me,” Ginny said, grabbing Pansy by the wrist and pulling her aggressively toward an empty stairwell. Pansy didn’t fight her, saying something in quick French to Gaby who was smirking nearby. Ginny didn’t care what was said. She pulled Pansy down half a flight of steps, pulled the thick canvas wall of the risers to let them under the seats of the Top Box. It was like a fort made of huge wooden beams, tucked out of sight.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>They were kissing and it tasted completely different. They were hiding because they were technically on the clock (reporting the World Cup and assassination attempts and all)  and it was just not professional to kiss like this in public. But they weren’t really hiding. Ginny <i>knew </i> this was no longer a real secret, just the fun under-the-stands type of secret. Whatever Pansy’s problem was this morning was completely gone. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“What was that all about?” Ginny finally gasped out her question, having been unable to talk for all the snogging. “The whole coming out extravaganza I mean, we can get to your parents’ imminent arrest later.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Just wanted to be a good ancestor. I just felt like it.” Pansy shrugged a lazy shoulder. She was more relaxed than Ginny had ever seen her. Ginny kissed down her soft neck. “But what’s gotten into you, gingersnap?” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“What can I say,” she whispered, lips grazing against Pansy’s collarbones. “I just think heroics are really hot.” </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“We’ve been over this, gingersnap. I’m no hero.” Of course Pansy would hate being accused of heroics. Ginny leaned back, deciding to make Pansy do the conciliatory work. “Look, I know my personal growth or whatever just happened up there… I know it doesn’t entitle me to a second chance-”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“No, it doesn’t. But I think it has earned you your fifth chance, or your tenth chance,” Ginny said with an eyeroll. She pulled Pansy into a long and passionate kiss which was met with enthusiasm before Pansy pulled back again.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“But really, you’re not upset?” she asked. “You forgive me for being a twat?”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“I’m constantly forgiving you for being a twat,” Ginny said, smiling at Pansy’s lips. They truly were amazing lips. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“No, Ginny,” Pansy whispered, running her fingers up and down Ginny’s bare arms. “This morning. I was awful.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>“Yes.” Ginny nodded. “You oughtn’t be so awful. Now shut up, I need to kiss you more and we can’t be gone long or they’ll miss us.”</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Ginny pushed Pansy back against a thick wooden beam and pressed their lips together again. She was grateful that Pansy was picking up her strong ‘let’s not talk about it’ cues, because she didn’t think she could handle reliving her mortifying declaration of love. Yes, she loved Pansy. Of course she was still hurt by what Pansy had said that morning. No, she didn’t want that to stop them from snogging under the stands. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>So they kissed. They ran their fingers through each other’s hair and Ginny’s hands couldn’t stop in one place. She wanted to touch every last part of Pansy, because heroics really <i>were </i>sexy. And because maybe Pansy severing ties with her family and trying to apologize meant that things could be different now; real. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Ginny’s hand wandered down under Pansy’s skirt and thick legs lifted and opened to grant her access. Having no time for subtlety she stroked Pansy’s wet knickers fast, eliciting the sweetest sighs. The stands cheered and roared above them. Pansy was beautiful with her eyes closed and her mouth open. The streaks of dusty sunlight filtered through the stands and kissed her skin. Ginny was thirsty for her. It had been less than 24 hours that they had last held each other, but Ginny had missed her so much. </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i> ‘I love you I love you I love you.’<i> chanted Ginny’s heart. Her mouth only let out shallow breaths as she shared more desperate lips. Her fingers were working their way around fabric to touch hot, wet skin… </i></i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>“Ginny?” called a familiar male voice from two feet away on the other side of the fabric wall. The two witches froze, eyes going wide. Pansy swore and Ginny pulled away, sheepishly wiping her hand on her robes. “Ginny, are you down here?”</i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>Ginny kissed her love once more, real quick before stepping out from their alcove.</i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>“Er, hey Harry.” She smiled awkwardly and ran a hand through her undoubtedly messy hair.</i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>“What do you want, Potter?” Pansy followed her out onto the stairs looking thoroughly annoyed.</i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>“Oh, er-” Harry stammered, looking back and forth between the two witches with embarrassed comprehension dawning in his eyes. “Sorry. Er, it’s just that the game is over. Bravo caught the snitch.”</i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There we go, much happier now! </p>
<p>That chapter was really tricky to edit because I was really focused on trying to make the plot make sense. If you saw any typos or half sentences or stupid things, please let me know. Your feedback really means the world to me.</p>
<p>Only one chapter left, are you excited?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. "Really?" "Really."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we are, our final chapter! The story has come to a close right before my birthday, right at the beginning of 2021... Oh what a life, right? So, nobody ever beta'd this, but I wrote it ages ago and it was dying to be published. I might come back in and edit later. </p><p>So, are you ready? Read!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bravo caught the snitch.”</p><p>Ginny and Pansy were speechless for a moment. Was the World Cup ending even possible? Eventually Ginny was able to reply:</p><p>“No. Seriously?”</p><p>“Seriously.” Harry’s embarrassment from walking in on them made way for his obscene love of quidditch. “Bravo got it right from under Thompson’s nose.”</p><p>“Really?” </p><p>“Really!”</p><p>“Really really? And I missed it?” </p><p>A goofy grin was growing on Harry’s face and Ginny found herself laughing. Stomach bubbling, she looked at Pansy but was unable to read the subtle expression on her face. </p><p>“We’d better get back up there before Patil fires us,” said Pansy. “We’ll have to pretend we saw the whole thing. Potter, describe it well. Ginny’s going to have to interpret every move.”</p><p>So Harry went on to explain with great detail and excitement. He didn’t seem to mind that Chile had won, and neither did Ginny. Instead they just enjoyed the buzz of the long anticipated climax of the game. Ginny found Pansy’s close presence equally intoxifying, as the recent memories of touching Pansy made her delightfully dizzy. She tried not to look at Pansy as the three of them climbed back up to the Top Box, sure that she would combust upon eye contact. </p><p>As important as Harry’s description of Bravo’s final dive was, Ginny’s attention completely wavered when Pansy’s fingers carelessly brushed against hers, eliciting sparks. Had she been too reckless to kiss and caress Pansy without tying up the loose ends of their conversation? The game was over, what did that mean for them? </p><p>Pressing though her concerns were, she could not indulge them just yet. She had to join a celebrating crowd and make everyone believe that she saw Bravo catch the snitch. Just before getting into view of the crowd Harry remembered that he could simply pass Ginny his omnioculars for a second so that she could do a quick rewatch. Thank Merlin. As they snuck back into the Top Box they rushed to get out their quills and parchment. It seemed that everyone was too exhilarated to note their absence.<br/>
</p><p>In between the planning of interviews and quick observations, Pansy stole Ginny’s gaze with a promise of ‘To Be Continued.’ As predicted, looking into Pansy’s dilated eyes did turn her body to fire. However, doubt settled in too. How could she possibly maintain a casual friends with benefits agreement with Pansy now that ‘I love you’ hung unreciprocated in the air?</p><p>The game had been record breaking in many ways: most fouls in a World Cup, longest game ever, most developed fan culture and restaurants, most cursed seekers etc etc. Ginny was pleased to report that Alicia had broken a record in goals scored. This was not particularly surprising considering the months that she had plenty of time to shoot the Quaffle and enough skill to make it happen.</p><p>Ginny’s brothers lost their bets that England would win, and Gabrielle raked in the money she’d placed on her loverboy Bravo catching the snitch. Once everything was cleared up with Iago Parkinson being behind the seeker’s being cursed via their catered health food, Ginny felt a twinge of guilt for having briefly suspected Gaby of shady business. Turns out that night of partying with the seekers when they were cursed was purely lust motivated. </p><p>Watching Gaby tease Pansy in french, she realized how lucky she was to have become such good friends with her sister in law. And while she still only knew English, she could tell that Gaby was calling Pansy out on sneaking off with Ginny during the final moves of the Game. It wasn’t just the suggestive tone of Gaby’s voice, but also the sultry stares that Pansy threw through the crowds at Ginny. </p><p>Those beautiful dark brown eyes. With those gorgeous eyelashes. They were free to look, no longer forbidden by Pansy’s overbearing family. Ginny found herself staring more than was strictly professional. When Editor in Chief, the intimidating Ms Patil, came to congratulate Ginny on her first job, Ginny had to practically glue her eyes to her boss so that she wouldn’t be distracted by the tornado of butterflies that fluttered in her stomach.</p><p>“Well, Miss Weasley.” Ms Patil smiled. “I hope you are pleased with your work, because I am. It was a very challenging first assignment and you rose to the occasion despite adversity. I am glad that I trusted you to do the job.”</p><p>Ginny responded with something gracious and generic. </p><p>“Now,” Patil continued, “I just heard today from Mr Gibble that you had a complaint about sharing a tent with Miss Parkinson. He said he meant to tell me earlier, so I’m sorry if it’s been an ongoing issue. We just didn’t predict assigning you as long term flatmates! But based on your work, I never would have known you were dealing with a conflict. I appreciate the professionalism that you’ve demonstrated.”</p><p>“Yeah, uh” Ginny coughed, “no problem.”</p><p>“I can try to separate your assignments in the future,” Patil offered. “Within reason of course.”</p><p>“No!” said Ginny. “I mean, it’s okay now. We’ve gotten over it.”</p><p>“Oh? I’m glad to hear it.”</p><p>“Yeah, well sometimes you’ve just gotta be mature about stuff, right?”</p><p>“Indeed.” Ms Patil nodded.</p><p>As they continued their conversation Ginny buzzed with joy. Patil had the grace to not mention the raised wands between Pansy and Goneril Parkinson. Nor did she mention Pansy’s public renouncing of her parents and her declaration of gayness. Fortunately, people didn’t seem to be discussing Pansy’s personal drama at all, in favor of analyzing the legendary World Cup and a shameless assassination attempt.</p><p> Time whirled around Ginny as everything wrapped up, and she could barely keep track of the conversations around her. Her quill raced across parchment trying to capture the mayhem of post-game celebrations. She saved analysis for later, and used this time to jot down quotes and soak in what everyone was saying around her:</p><p>“Of course some pureblood idiots were behind this never ending World Cup! They could just make their tent their summer home. Not like they need to work for a living.”</p><p>“Can’t believe that Parkinson saved the day!” </p><p>“No he didn’t! Mr Parkinson is the ones who attempted murder!”</p><p>“No, I meant when the Parkinson girl. She recognized the curse.”</p><p>“No, I thought it was a goblin.”</p><p>“And did you see? Harry Potter! He’s always involved, isn’t he?”</p><p>“Wait, Potter has <i>always</i> been involved with Draco Malfoy?”</p><p>“No. What? Involved with <i>who</i>?!” </p><p>“It’s bloody barmy!”</p><p>“Goes to show how people will always surprise you.”</p><p>She made a note to herself to try to keep gossip about Harry and Pansy out of the rags. Down on the pitch the quidditch players were jumping all over each other in hugs, but soon they would be on the sidelines, drinking water and ready to discuss their victories and losses. She grabbed Gabrielle by the elbow.</p><p>“Let’s go talk to your boyfriend, yeah?”</p><p>As she and Gaby hustled down the stairs, Ginny regretted being separated from Pansy so immediately after making up. But she would see Pansy later and they would talk. They would kiss. It would be okay. Good, even. Ginny shook thoughts of Pansy away so she could focus on getting through the crowds to the team. </p><p>Antinanco Bravo noticed them first and ran toward them glistening with sweat and victory. He swept Gaby into the type of passionate embrace that had Ginny staring at the turf beneath her feet. What if she had just done that up in the Top Box with Pansy? A romantic kiss in front of everyone, then maybe some declarations of love while using a Sonorous charm.</p><p>But no, she felt more comfortable with their habit of secret, stolen kisses. Ginny shook her head; it was time to get a quick statement from Ant, so the three of them sat on a bench and did a fresh off the pitch play by play of how he caught the snitch. Ginny was grateful that Gaby was there making it less obvious that Ginny had missed the end of the game. Once they had enough for a story, it didn’t seem like Gaby and Ant would be able to keep their lips apart for a moment longer. Ginny’s means of escape appeared in the form of Alicia Spinnet.</p><p>“Hey Gaby, why don’t you finish up this, er, interview?” she suggested, standing up. “I’m going to chat with Alicia.”</p><p>Gaby and Ant waited maybe two seconds after she left before snogging each other senseless again. Alicia looked freshly showered and thoroughly exhausted as she walked with her teammates across the pitch. Ginny had no intentions of sucking her into an unwilling news interview about their defeat, but couldn’t resist saying hi.</p><p>“Alicia! Hey!” she called, striding toward her friend. The English team looked to be in relatively good spirits despite their loss. Their arms slung over each other’s shoulders, and a sense of relief hung heavy around them. Alicia caught Ginny’s eye and grinned. She shrugged off her teammates for a moment to lag behind.</p><p>“Hey girl,” Alicia said, hugging her. Her head lolled around like dead weight on Ginny’s shoulder and her arms moved with momentum rather than muscular effort. </p><p>“Congratulations!” Ginny said with some pats on the back. “You were great. Set an all time record for goals scored in a World Cup!”</p><p>“Wasn’t hard though was it?” Alicia countered, pulling back with a smile. “I had plenty of time.”</p><p>“Still brilliant!”</p><p>“Merlin, what a game though...” Alicia shook her head, laughing. “I’ll give you an exclusive later, yeah?”</p><p>“After 48 hours of sleep and parties,” Ginny agreed. </p><p>“Party first, sleep later,” Alicia told her. “England team’s tent. You’ll come?”</p><p>“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”</p><p>“Good. Gonna warn you now though,” Alicia teased. “I’ll have to call it an early night. I think my body is about to fall off.”</p><p>“Actually, yeah that’s good...” Ginny fumbled with her words for a moment. “Can I bring somebody?”</p><p>“Oh?” Alicia’s eyes twinkle. “You have a Somebody now?”</p><p>“I-” Ginny stopped, unsure. Was Pansy a Somebody? Would she want to go to the party together? Together, together?  Just because she came out to her parents doesn’t mean she wants to be Ginny’s Somebody. “Maybe.”</p><p>“Well, that’s a relief -you’re exhausting!” Alicia laughed, ruffling Ginny’s hair. Then with a sweet smile and shrug she said, “Invite them. And Ginny, I’m sure that if you just say the word, whoever it is will be all yours.”</p><p>Ginny murmured a “Thanks” at the ground and let Alicia catch up with her teammates with promises to see her that night.</p><p>Ginny spent the next several hours running around doing <i>Prophet</i> stuff, the entire time fantasizing about the next time she’d see Pansy. While she tried to focus on interviews, she constantly wavered between giddy joy and anxiety about the conversation they would hopefully have. There was so much lust in Pansy’s eyes when they made eye contact across the media tent, that Ginny had to check if her robes were still on and that she wasn’t just standing naked in a crowd.</p><p>Finally, <i>finally</i>, it was time for them to call it a day and head back to their tent. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all meandering through the woods accompanied by Draco and Pansy. With Pansy walking so close by, Ginny's body lit up so much that she was surprised she didn’t go up in flames. Draco and Harry’s fingers were laced and Ginny couldn’t think of a time she’d seen either of them happier. Every part of her wished she was holding Pansy’s hand too, but things were too tremulous to risk such a bold move just yet.</p><p>“I just can’t believe you’re with the ferret though!” Ron kept repeating with more disbelief than malice. “After everything? You hated him!”</p><p>“Come on, Ronald,” Hermione chided. “We can’t hold a grudge -it’s been nearly ten years!”</p><p>“It’s been twice that long since the Cannons won a game, but he’s still holding onto that,” drawled Draco.</p><p>Pansy was standing right next to her, but Ginny couldn’t bring herself to look at anything but the path. That feeling like she was going to go up in flames? Standing so close and not touching made her feel like there was going to be a full forest fire.</p><p>“Bloody hell,” Ron said, “it’s just unnatural for a Slytherin and a Gryffindor to be together!”</p><p>“Ronald!” Hermione began to scold, but Pansy cut her off.</p><p>“Hey Weasley,” she said. “I’m seeing your sister.”</p><p>Then she laced her fingers through Ginny’s. With the heat of a thousand suns in her chest, Ginny stared at the witch holding her hand. Pansy’s smirk glittered with fondness as her eyes scanned Ginny quickly up and down as if checking for signs of her internal combustion.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Ron choked. The group halted in the middle of the path.</p><p>“Me and the Weaslette.” Pansy squeezed Ginny’s hand. “We’re a thing.”</p><p>The expletives rushing from Ron’s mouth perfectly complemented Draco’s look of pride. Ginny and Harry grinned at each other like their faces would split and Hermione was failing to hide her smug smile.</p><p>Ginny confirmed Pansy’s announcement by kissing her in the middle of the path. It was hot, fast, and promising of things to come.</p><p>“We, er,” giggled Ginny, pulling on her girlfriend’s hand and walking forward. </p><p>“We have to go.” Pansy finished her sentence and followed in Ginny’s footsteps while the other four didn’t move.</p><p>“Urgent business,” Ginny continued. Draco said something snarky, but Ginny didn’t catch it as she and Pansy hurried off down the path hand in hand. Ginny broke into a run and Pansy almost fell over her.</p><p>“I don’t run, gingersnap.”</p><p>“You do now. Come on.”</p><p>Pansy trailed behind Ginny like a kite, floating and skimming against trees. As they went they frequently stopped to kiss, only running again when the desire to be alone together outweighed the urge to keep kissing. They tumbled through the door of their tent, gasping and laughing.</p><p>Their desperate mouths were relentless in their passion, and Pansy’s fingers tangled in Ginny’s hair. They crashed into the furniture, not caring when they tripped over the coffee table. Ginny couldn’t decide which need was more insistent: to close all distance between their lips and bodies, or to pull back to look into Pansy’s face. Double checking to make sure this was real, that she was tangible and sincere and as open and vulnerable as she seemed.</p><p>They bit and pulled hair and found themselves horizontal on the couch, pressing their hips together.</p><p>“Really?” Ginny asked, knowing Pansy would understand the question.</p><p>“Really,” Pansy replied. They kissed slower now, like melting chocolate, until Pansy also asked, “Really?”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>But after more licking and caressing, Ginny would answer again, softer, “Really.”</p><p>Ginny’s shaking hands unbuttoned Pansy’s silky blouse, and Pansy’s nails scratched at Ginny’s back as she pulled off her ratty tank top. Pansy’s mouth tasted sweet and Ginny’s hair hung down in Pansy’s face. Pansy’s legs parted and Ginny reached inside her, eliciting hissing moans. They consumed each other, knowing that they could always go back for seconds. Or thirds. And still have more tomorrow. </p><p>***</p><p>We step out of the shower after sunset and I enjoy the warmth of her eyes on me as I dry off.</p><p>“So, there’s a party with the England team,” she says. “Alicia said I could bring a date.”</p><p>“Hmm.” I go to my closet as she pulls on some boy shorts and a sports bra from where they’d been flung on my bedroom floor.</p><p>“Would you like to go with me?” she asks. </p><p>“Well duh.” I slip on a little black dress worthy of partying with international quidditch stars. “Zip me up?”</p><p>She comes up behind me and her breath tickles my neck and her fingers lazily trace along my shoulders before she slowly zips my dress. I’m holding my breath and though I’m not looking at her face I know she’s wearing a small, soft smile. I appreciate the silence. There are a million things to say, but we’ll have infinite amounts of time to say them. There is one thing though... </p><p>“About what you said earlier,” I begin, standing still with my back to her. She trails her fingers lightly up and down my arms, giving me goosebumps. “You know. This morning.”</p><p> “I said a lot of things this morning.” Her statement is true and I’m sure we’re both wondering at how long ago this morning feels. But before our shower I noticed that the vase on the kitchen table is still shards of glass beneath wilted daisies. </p><p>“Don’t be dumb,” I say, hoping she knows what I’m talking about. A beat of silence lets me know that she remembers: <i> 'I love you.'</i></p><p>“Just,” I take a breath, “nobody has ever said that to me before.” </p><p>“Not even-?”</p><p>“Nobody.”</p><p>Before she can respond, I turn around and kiss her lightly on the lips then leave it at that. I’m not ready for that, but it’s not that I don’t have strong feelings. We’ll have time.  She seems to accept this and goes to pull on some jeans while I turn to my mirror to start on my makeup. </p><p>“It was pretty badass earlier,” Ginny says, graciously letting go of the topic of love for now. “The whole telling your mum what you think and that you and Draco are calling off that sophisticated fall wedding. Just think, she’ll have to owl an entire orchestra to cancel!”</p><p>“Yeah.” I smirk, recalling a conversation from months ago. “I was rather  looking forward to that piccolo solo. But fuck it, Draco and I are both like, super gay. The engagement was not practical.”</p><p>“Do you still worry about what your grandmother would have say? Defacing the Parkinson name and all.”</p><p>“Whatever.” I cover my full lips with dark color. “I like to think she would care more that I’m happy, but she’s dead. So it doesn’t really matter. If it does, I’ll meet her in hell and we can discuss it there.”</p><p>Ginny laughs and she’s glowing. Shit, she loves me. That’s going to take some getting used to. I look over at my jewelry and realize that it’s all just gifts from my parents, fake engagement gifts from Draco, and jewelry I bought for myself with my parents money. I don’t want to wear any of it. I consider my “pillow fort architect” dog collar from Ginny, but maybe I still want to keep a couple things about my personal life private. I could conjure something obviously but…</p><p>“Hey creampuff, do you have any jewelry I could borrow?”</p><p>And that’s how I end up wearing a cheap red glass beaded choker that will probably leave green copper stains on my neck. But I’ve never felt sexier. I’d even go so far as to say that I look lovely.</p><p>***</p><p>Ginny kissed Pansy in the England’s team tent as music blasted around them and athletes spilled beer on each other. Pansy didn’t pull away. Alicia wolf whistled, but nobody else seemed to notice or care at all.</p><p>***</p><p>The two post-game days pass in a whirl of interviews and parties, as we celebrate with the Brits, the Chileans, and what feels like the entire world. Marta Huerta gives me a long one-on-one interview and it was probably the highlight of my career thus far. Dibrut has invited me to visit her in Santiago and Patil mentioned she might want me to do some work abroad. Apparently there’s some interest in following up stories about the World Cup’s winning team and the Chilean upcoming quidditch season too, so I might be forced to travel with Ginny. Oh woe is me.</p><p>There’s the high likelihood that my flat is going to be emptied and sold by the time I get back to Chelsea and my access to the family vault at Gringotts will be cut off. Ron Weasley seems to have given up on the idea of Gryffindors can’t date Slytherins though, as demonstrated at Potter’s birthday bash, when he drunkenly suggested that I steal the <i>Prophet</i> tent and camp on the land at the Burrow. As if. </p><p>Draco can put me up for a couple weeks until I find my own place -that little shit owes me- and no, I’m not going to move in with Ginny after being official for like two seconds. Breaking the stereotype right here and now. Ignore the fact that in the past I may or may not have U-Hauled with a couple lovers in order to find an easy place to live while traveling… but now I’m a grown ass woman with a successful career and I can get my own gorgeous London flat, thank you very much.</p><p>Our last couple days in the forest are long, exhausting and beautiful. Both end up with me and Ginny a tangle of limbs twisted up in my high thread count sheets. Both mornings she kisses me to the tune of Vivaldi’s “Spring” and tickles my grumpy morning face with her long red hair. Finally it’s time for us to pack up camp and make our way to the apparition point. Taking down a tent with a lover is a test of your relationship.</p><p>“No, gingersnap.” I tug on a large fold of canvas while Ginny attempts to fold down the poles but gets tangled in one of the ropes. “It goes <i>this way</i>. Give those poles to me.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do. Besides, aren’t you scared you’ll break a nail?”</p><p>“Don’t make me hex you, Weasley.”</p><p>“I know how to take down a tent, <i>Parkinson!</i>”</p><p>“Clearly.” I roll my eyes. “Which perfectly explains why you have ropes caught around your ankles. And here I thought <i>I</i> was the one who likes to be tied up.”</p><p>“Oh shut up,” she says as her cheeks flush.</p><p>“Make me.” I’m sure my eyes are sultry, insisting that she come snog me senseless. I see lust flitter across her face but then she raises her wand at me.</p><p>“<i>Silencio!</i>” she cries before I have a chance to defend myself. I open my mouth to swear at her but of course no words come out. I cast a nonverbal tickling jinx though and she manages to untangle the ropes while doubled over in giggles. While she’s compromised I quickly take down the tent without breaking a nail or tripping over a root in my high heels.</p><p>Once it’s all packed up I press her against our favorite tree. I lift the tickling jinx and kiss her with everything I’ve got.</p><p>“There.” I lean back and we smile at each other. “You all ready to go?”</p><p>She nods and we levitate our trunks up ahead of us down the path. Hand in hand, we follow them through the woods with dappled light on our skin and Arnold IV rolling around on my shoulders. Leaving the campground feels unreal, and going back to the real world seems like stepping into a dream. </p><p>“So,” I say. “What do you think of your first <i>Prophet</i> assignment? Think you’re made out to be a journalist?”</p><p>“Yeah, overall I think this assignment turned out alright.” She grins at me, caramel eyes sparkling. “Although it was kind of <i>in-tents.</i>”</p><p>“I hate you,” I say in response to the worst pun ever.</p><p>“No you don’t.”</p><p>No, I don’t. So I stop walking and kiss her, short and gentle. I linger with our noses almost touching for a second because I love being close to her.</p><p>I suppose this is what ‘they’ mean when ‘they’ say people can change. As we continue down the path together, I finally feel free. I feel like myself again. But for the first time.</p><p>***</p><p>May of 2011 was as full of tree pollen as ever and Ginny’s nose was stuffy, even inside the <i>Prophet</i> headquarters. Fortunately, when Ginny sat down at her desk after lunch, she noticed a small vial of allergy potion. Tucked underneath the vial was a bit of parchment featuring familiar handwriting in Pansy’s signature green ink.<br/>
<i><br/>
Gingersnap,</i></p><p>
  <i>Thanks for the stir fry you left at my desk. Perfectly up to standard. I leave for the press conference in Rome right at 6 and I’m taking Arnold V with me and there’s nothing you can do about it. I know you will miss him terribly, but he’d be destitute without me. You’ll see him tomorrow anyways when you . Please remind Luna to check on the houseplants. I’ve reminded her twice this week, but I can never tell if she’s ever actually registering what I say. That mimbulus mimbletonia Neville gave us is so fussy. Honestly, who gives a stinky cactus as a wedding gift?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I booked a suite at Hotel de Russie (your favorite room with the balcony) and I’ll let them know to expect you so you can come in at any time. Even early in the morning, if you promise to be quiet and crawl into bed with me.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I love you,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Pansy</i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, that was my first solo-written multi-chapter fic ever! I think I learned a lot while writing it, and I hope you enjoyed that fluffy happy ending. Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yeah so this fic comes the quarantine-inspired trope of “stuck together.” But also, we all need a bit of escapism, especially this year, and I miss being around crowds. So Pansy and Ginny are going to be surrounded by a whole stadium worth of people!</p><p>Also when I started this, it was gonna be a one shot. Ha. </p><p>Oh, I live on feedback, tell me what you think :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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